Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Cranial drill.”

“Yes, Doctor."

She crosses her left arm over her body as she reaches for the instrument, right hand still on the irrigation cannula.  

“I told you, Lea–” Dr. Carrick smirks, not looking up from the patient. “Call me Tobias.”

The neuro glasses cover the majority of his eyes, but she can still see the mischievous glint in his gray irises. As he hovers over the patient’s skull, the dim ivory light of the operating room makes him look something uncomfortably adjacent to threatening. 

“I hardly think that’s appropriate,” she asserts and focuses on the thin, clear suction wire between her fingers. 

“Well, you seem to be on a first-name basis with Ethan. Oh, Dr. Ramsey, I mean.” 

She stifles the desperate need to roll her eyes. She’s had put up with Carrick’s insistent and unashamed flirting throughout the six years of her neurosurgery residency, and she’s not about to let him ruin her dream meningioma. Well, the patient’s meningioma.

At this point, as a senior resident, she’s tackled a miscellany of tumors, performed quite a few bifrontal craniotomies, even led the Burr drills, on some. But the tumor on Ms. Farley is exquisite. 

She would feel bad for her insensitivity, but she knows that she'll kill this procedure. And the sweet schoolteacher would recover, of course. She will, however, perpetually resent the fact that Edenbrook hired and made Carrick her attending. When she tried to voice her concerns to Chief Emery, the stoic woman just waved her away.

"You’ll always be dealing with entitled men in neuro."

She scoffed and muttered under her breath. "He’s not just entitled."

Which earned her a sharp glare. Wanting to, you know, keep her job, she dropped it. 

But as much as her toes curl in anger whenever that smirk spreads on his face, or when he not so subtly checks out her ass in her scrubs– Carrick’s a talented surgeon. He isn’t a good mentor. But he’s a smart one. 

“Ready to check out this spectacular hematoma?” He looks up with an impish grin. She nods and moves closer to hover over the microscope. 

Her eyes widen. “Wow.”

The CT didn’t do it justice. The tumor stretches the length of the dura, a large patch of red from the inflamed blood clot. 

“Sexy, huh?” 

She glares at him before turning to the surgical assistant. “Shunt valve, please.”

“Yes, Doctor.” 

She sighs. Doctor. Sounds nice. Technically, she’s been 'Dr. Roberts' for quite a few years now. But, somehow, on the cusp of her fellowship, it's music to her ears. (Sienna’s acoustic music. Not Elijah’s weird screamo-alternative.) 

One more year, and she would no longer be Carrick’s underling. 

She takes the tube to Ms. Farley’s skull, carefully draining the excess cerebrospinal fluid and blood clots. It takes a considerable amount of time– the hematoma is persistent– but she manages to laboriously drain the tumor. With cramping fingers, she steps back for Carrick to see. He raises his eyebrows and nods once.

“Not bad, Roberts. Let’s close her up.”

“Dr. Roberts,” she mutters.

“Sorry, what was that?” He yells over his shoulder. But he's already backing into the doors of the operating room and slipping out.

Her hands tighten around the tube. Deep breath. One more year. Fifty-two weeks, three-hundred and sixty-five days. And she holds out her hand.

“Suture, please.” 

--

After Ms. Farley is safely in the recovery room, she walks to the lobby and lays her head on the counter of the receptionist desk, her agonized groan muffled by the polished marble. She jerks her hand to the right, to the file organizer, and yanks the stack of charts to her face. She repeatedly slams her temple against the clipboard. 

“Lea!” Liz snatches the clipboard out from under her, half-raising from her seat. 

The redheaded receptionist looks at her and her trembling arms with concerned, green eyes. “Hard surgery?” 

"Hard surgery. And a hard co-surgeon.”

Liz’s eyebrows wrinkle. Lea winces. “That came out wrong. A difficult co-surgeon. An infuriating co-surgeon. One that makes me want to take that file organizer and slam it against my face.” 

“Oo–kay.” Liz slides forward and slowly pulls the file organizer off the counter. “Let’s put that away.” 

Turning around, she leans her spine against the marble. Her head falls back to look at Liz. “Why do I have to be a neuro resident? I couldn’t have chosen peds? Four years of residency instead of seven?”

Liz gives her a pitying look, patting her head. “Let me guess… ” 

“Carrick?” Liz and another voice next to her ring out in unison.

She tilts her head up and sees a set of piercing, turquoise eyes. A familiar pair, one that consistently makes her heart contract without refrain. 

“Dr. Roberts." Ethan nods stiffly.

“E–Dr. Ramsey,” she sighs, too weary to care about her slip.

“What seems to be the problem?” 

“Oh, you know, just Tobias Carrick being a top-tier, chauvinistic jackass!” She slumps back against the counter.

Unwilling amusement dawns on his face, for just a moment. But, he quickly hardens, colder than ever. “It’s unprofessional to refer to an attending to that degree.”

“It’s unprofessional to stare at the ass of your resident every five minutes.”

A flash of anger overwhelms his expression before he clears his throat. “Well, maybe you should pay more attention to your patients than his… ass-staring.”

Even Liz frowns. “Seriously? Is every man in this hospital a sexist jerk?”

“I would watch your language, Dr. Roberts,” Ethan utters, in his usual, dark lilt.

“Make me.” She holds his uncompromising gaze.

He stares her down for ten, charged seconds before swiveling on his heel. “Finish your charts, Dr. Roberts.”

She groans and collapses face-forward on the marble again. Liz whistles. “What’s got him in a grumpy mood?”

“Who knows?” She stands up and rubs her eyes. “I’m going to an on-call room. I need a nap. And maybe chocolate.”

Liz smiles furtively and dips her hand into one of the drawers behind her. She slides a fun-sized Snickers over the countertop.

“I love you.”

Liz waves it off. “Just don’t tell Ines. She’s trying to get rid of all the junk food that the hospital serves to replace it with certified organic, non-GMO, gluten free, grass-fed garbage.” 

“Does that mean that the pretzels in the vending machine are going to be replaced by dried lentil chips?”

Liz looks down as if mourning, holding a hand to a heart, and the two share a laugh. “Go get some sleep. Your chocolate supply will stay here.”

She blows Liz a kiss, and walks across the lobby to the hall of on-call rooms. She peers through each window, hoping to God that she won’t catch Bryce hooking up with a nurse again. Most of them have the red 'occupied' slipped across the lock, but the last door on the far end of the hallway is, mercifully, empty. 

She pushes the door open and practically wobbles to the bed. She drops her head in her hands, hair curtaining her face. And she sighs as she hears the fumbling of the handle, and sees light spill in as someone opens the door. “Look, I just got out of a–” 

But before she can finish her sentence, she's tugged up and pressed against the wall next to the bed. Steely, blue irises burn into her own.

“Make me? Really? Are you trying to kill me?” 

Chapter Text

“Make me? Are you trying to kill me?” Ethan ducks his face to her jaw.

She raises an eyebrow. "You said no PDA. Not ‘no flirting and instigating sexual tension.’” 

His teeth search the unguarded skin of her throat until they seize her earlobe. “That was flirting?” he mutters in her ear. “With angry sex eyes?"

She laughs, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at her. “Believe it or not, I was actually just angry. I’m always looking at you with sex eyes.”

His fingers carve heat into her hips. “Even when I’m yelling at the stupid interns?” 

“Even when you’re yelling at the stupid interns," she smiles coyly, kissing his cheek. “Even when you’re chatting with patients, with those kind eyes." Her lips brush the underside of his jaw. “Even when you’re shuffling through your charts." She places a small kiss above his collar. “Even when you’re–” 

Ethan abruptly captures her lips, spinning her and walking her backwards until she's pinned against the door. “You taste like chocolate.” 

“That’s because I, indeed, just ate chocolate.” 

“That’s not very healthy eating for a doctor.”  

She opens her mouth in annoyance, but the words die on her tongue with a gasp. His left hand winds past her hips and reaches down to spin the lock, the other brushing the skin under her scrubs. With a whimper, she arches her back up to the searing touch, folding two hands into his hair. His mouth drops on hers, his tongue gracing her bottom lip. They coil together fervently, urgency on their lips, heaving chests, scattered gasps for breaths, the desperate press of skin.

A leg is quickly wrapped around his hip to yank him flush against her. As their hips fight for control, she feels him, hard against her thigh.

“Well, that was easy.”

His tongue traverses the bend of her jaw. “Sex eyes.”

She laughs, running her hands down his chest. Her white coat and shirt are shimmied off, and pools on the floor. His eyes darken in reverence, in want. “Seriously?” 

She snaps the strap of her bra with a laugh. It's cherry-wine, all lace, stitching swinging low on her chest. “You know, sometimes, I can wear cute bras for myself.” 

“Was it? For yourself?”

“No. I was definitely betting on you slamming me against a wall.”

“You bet correctly.”

But, as her pants fall to the floor, it's difficult for her to conceal her laughter. He blinks, looking at her underwear, ice cream cones scattered on the fabric. “Okay. That doesn’t track.” 

"I was also anticipating that not all of our clothes would come off before you got paged.” 

“Couldn't care less." He hooks two fingers into it, but she stops him.

“You’re regrettably overdressed.” His white coat flies off, his tie unraveled. 

“And you’re good with your hands."

“You’re right. They get me through some long surgeries."

“That, and–"

“Especially that craniotomy today. I had to keep my hands steady for at least an hour.” 

He rolls his eyes and places his palms on the door to cage her. “Are you done?"

“You know, Tobias says that I’m especially good with my thumb and pointer finger, on the drill–”

“That’s it.”

His tone stirs a shudder on her skin, and with his shirt still half-unbuttoned, his tie still hanging loosely around his neck, his fingers sweep aside the fabric of her underwear before abruptly pushing in. She yelps as they curl up, the familiarity of his touch fracturing her defense, ringlets of thrill weaving through her.

But, his pace slows to one of unbearable leisure, the tendrils of pleasure draw out and recede, the stutter of a wave lapping the shore, over, and over. 

“Ethan. Please." She tries to lower herself onto his hand. But, they’re withdrawn, once again, and she whines, feeling the acute absence of him.

“You can't say anyone else's name when you're half-naked in front of me.”

She tries to utter a response, but she's near to falling apart on his hand, shudders splintering her resolve as his touch runs up her legs. And his mouth betrays her, as well, dropping down to drag his teeth from her calf to the swell of her thigh.

Slowly, in intense patience, his tongue descends on her with a single sweep. A cry slips between her lips, and she slams a hand over her mouth. He looks up, self-satisfied, clearly pleased by his hold on her, how easily she falls for him. His face tilts down. Another flick. Her hips whip forward, her fingers curling against the door.

“Please,” she whispers, embers running up her nerve endings, fever settling into her skin. 

Another flick of his tongue. And she's undone. The wave breaks, its crest of fervor rippling through her, a shudder breezing over over body. Without warning, he presses his fingers in, once again; the unexpected pressure sends her reeling, fluttering around his hand, a whimper ripped from her mouth. She sinks down against the door. He catches her in his arms and studies her expression. 

“That was easy."

She rolls her eyes. His fingers hurry from her thigh to her chest, his thumb brushing over the untouched skin. Her head falls back against the door, and she pushes him away. He lays his hand on hers, confused.

“Just– just give me a minute.” Her chest still heaves, refusing to wane. He looks down and raises his eyebrows.

“Are you still–” 

“Yeah.” Her head drops down, eyes squeezed tight.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He sighs, this thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. “But I’m tired of waiting."

He heaves her over his shoulder. 

“Ethan!” She laughs as he throws her down on the bed and crawls over her. “You’re still wearing this?” She yanks his tie in disappointment.

He just shrugs off his wrinkled shirt, and she raises an eyebrow, her gaze still on the tie dangling from his neck. He unravels it and wraps it around his fist.

“What–”

Her hands are forced above her head, and a silken fabric winds around her wrist. She wriggles in its grip. “Ethan!” Looking up, she frowns at the navy blue now around her wrist.

“No fair. I want to touch you.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you talked about another man while I was kissing you.”

“Oh come on! It was a jo–”

The fervid press of lips smothers her words, an involuntary whine replacing them, as his stubble thrashes roughly against her skin. The frustration of her binds intensifies at his mouth's unreasonable demand, his unforgiving tongue, forcing her to keep up.

He lifts himself off of her, and she struggles against the fabric. “Come back.” 

“Bossy.” 

But his hand lifts her lower back, snapping off the elastic of her bra and carelessly tossing it onto the ground. Her hips raise to meet his, her annoyance seeping through her rough touch. With a groan, he drops her and buries his head in her neck, biting red splotches onto her skin.

Horror and mortification unfurl in her as she looks down. “Ethan!” she hisses. “I won’t be able to cover those!" 

“Good. Everyone will know that you're taken. Even Carrick.”

“Your jealousy is a lot to handle, sometimes."

His frowning mouth lowers onto one of her breasts, his thumb trailing the arc of the other. A spiral of want, of need erupts in her, compressing every inch of skin, desperate for its unfolding.

“Off.” She knees at his boxers.

“Be patient.” 

The exasperation now burning the edges of her vision, she glares at him, and bends her feet to pull them down. A small rip sounds. 

With wide eyes, she stifles a laugh at the potentially torn fabric. He looks at her with annoyance. “If you ripped them–”

“You look better with them off, anyway.”

Her quip catches his words in his throat, and a husky laugh unseats them. His eyes nearly give way into hers as he searches them. “What are you doing to me?”

“Well, I can show you.” Her wrists strain in the tie as she gazes at him innocently.

He sighs and pulls it loose. "Later?” She nods. 

Finally, a dizzying, brazen grin spans her cheeks. Her legs hook around him and flips them over, his own head falling onto the pillow in anticipation. And, as she moves, she really tries to be soft, take her time; but the want, the longing, is a barrier that she can't bear anymore. 

So, she falls down onto him, at all once. A scream tumbles from her lips as she falls apart without the rise, without the slow-moving, deliberate buildup. Her fingernails dig into his chest as shudders unravel to each limb. 

“Are you–” 

“Yes. Yes. ” 

He grasps her hips and pulls her tighter against him, dragging out a whimper as she pulls through, curling over him.

“Jesus, Lea.” He places a hand on her chest. “Breathe.” 

The momentary rapture, the overstimulation flattens, the wave breathes its final tide. Her breaths come up short, and she pants until they even out. And, the longing rebuilds, the barriers stack back up, and she starts to rock on him vigorously. 

“Shit,” Ethan groans, his fingers creating tomorrow's bruises.

She matches his desperation as she writhes against him, a familiar heat shooting up her limbs. Each time she fully sinks down, his mouth falls open, no breath coming in, or out; she's wired, oversaturated. Sensing this, he tosses her down, and starts laying into her unforgivingly. Over, over. And his next words make her legs instinctively squeeze together. 

“One more?” 

At this point, she's a mess of tangled hair, flushed cheeks, unintelligible words. She can't provide an answer, a spellbinding bliss washing over her. Determined, his hand rests between them, finding her where their bodies meet.

An almost painful streak of pleasure strikes a match in her lower body, and a hand floats to her mouth, to stifle the scream that would, surely, wake up every patient on this floor. But he gently pulls her hand off.

“Let them hear.”

A whimper spills from her mouth. She forcefully pulls him down onto her, pressing her face against his shoulder, finding her grounding. Suddenly, she feels him at full tilt, and the staggering pressure sends her reeling. She screams into his shoulder, her teeth nearly drawing blood. His face tucks itself into her neck, and her name falls from his lips, in rhapsody, satisfaction. 

It takes them a few minutes to catch their breaths, their limbs messily pulled together, each vein in their bodies stringing a harsh beat.

“God," she whispers, after they recover. “Remind me to make you angry and jealous more often.”

“Remind me that I have to beat four, next time.”

She slaps his shoulder.

A while later– somehow, by the grace of God, they haven't been paged– they’re still wrapped together, her head on his heart, his fingers writing random letters on her back.

“Hey." She lifts her chin and looks at him. “What you said about me paying more attention to my patients? Instead of Carrick noticing my ass? That was a shitty thing to say.”

Taken aback by her directness, his mouth drops open. “Lea, I apologize–”

She sits up completely, sliding off his chest. “Also, you don’t get to police what I eat. If I want to eat chocolate after my ten hour surgery, and if my blood sugar is low, I will do that."

“I’m sorr-“

Her pager beeps, and she stands up to pull it out of the pockets of her discarded pants. “Carrick needs me. I have to go.” She flings on her clothes, as he sits on the edge of the bed, at a loss for words. 

“I’ll see you at home!” She straightens her coat and glides out of the room. She leaves him blinking. As she walks down the hall and presses the button of the elevator, she's a bit smug, knowing that he's left sputtering and speechless.

Maybe she’s jaded from spending ten hours on her feet with Carrick, but annoyance still has its hold on her. Even if she just came four times.

She walks out of the elevator onto the fifth floor and sees Carrick leaning on the reception desk. 

“What?”

“Woah,” he raises his hands up. “I just thought you’d want to see Ms. Farley post-procedure. She’s awake.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

He rakes his eyes up and down her body. Ew. “Trouble in paradise?”

“I’m sorry?” 

“You look like you’re about to strangle me with your bare hands. But, seems like the making up part went well. You look...” 

She picks up the tablet next to her and sees her reflection in the dark screen. She has wicked sex hair. She sighs and smoothes it down with one hand, before pulling it up and snapping the elastic. “Let’s go.”

“Take it away.”

She straightens her posture and walks into Ms. Farley’s recovery room with a large smile, Carrick on her heels. The schoolteacher lays on the hospital bed with a soft smile, as one of the nurses disconnects her anesthesia tube. 

“Hi, Ms. Farley."

“Dr. Roberts. Just Mary,” she insists, the wrinkles around her eyes gathering in earnest. 

“My mistake. Mary. And it's Lea, then. The procedure went well. It seems like you have no complications so far, and that’s a great sign. We’re hoping to have you here for five to six days, and then you can go back to Boston Collegiate.”

“Collegiate?” Carrick shakes his head. “God, sixth graders are geniuses these days. I don’t even think I knew what fractions were in middle school.” 

She conceals her smile. At least his charisma is useful for the patients. 

Ms. Farley laughs and motions him to come stand by her. “They’re amazing, Toby. You would like them. They’re mischievous. But clever.”

Toby. Of course. 

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“Hopefully, someday they’ll be fancy doctors like you and Dr. Roberts." She winks. 

“Lea, Ms. Farley, remember?" she asserts, fake stern. “I’m thinking that some of the kids could visit later in the week. Would that be okay?”

Her eyes light up brighter than the LEDs in the hospital lobby. “Yes! Please. Nothing would make me happier. I miss them.”

“Well,” Carrick draws out. “If they’re as intelligent as Dr. Roberts is, and was in med school, they’ll be great physicians.” 

Ms. Farley smiles and places her hand on his. “You’re a good man, Toby.” 

“We’ll check up on you in the morning, Mary. Get some rest.”

Her and Carrick walk out of the room and hover over the desk again as the receptionist enters Ms. Farley’s charts into the system. Her arms are crossed over her chest. She raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were capable of kindness." 

“Well, patient sensitivity is part of the training.” He shrugs and nonchalantly taps his phone screen. 

“That was a compliment, as well.” She narrows her eyes. “What do you want?”

He looks up from his phone, amused. “Can’t I just say something nice, for once, Roberts?” 

“No.” 

Carrick rolls his eyes. “Well, believe it or not, I did.”

She blinks. “Oh, well… thank you, I suppose.”

“I may be an asshole, but I’m an honest asshole, Roberts.” 

“Lea is fine,” she says, out of habit. 

“First name basis now, huh?” He smirks, mischief burning in his eyes.

And she immediately regrets it. “Don’t read too much into it."

“Definitely don't.” A husky voice rings out behind them. Ethan stalks towards them from the elevator. 

Carrick’s smirk merely intensifies. “Down, Ramsey. You’re not her keeper.” 

“No, I’m just trying to make sure her gray matter doesn’t decay any further as she listens to you speak.” 

Carrick just nods at him with a knowing, condescending expression. 

“Let’s go,” Ethan growls, tugging her elbow towards the elevator.

She yanks her arm back. “Ethan, let me g–” 

But he’s pressed the elevator button, and the doors swing open. She looks over her shoulder, and Carrick salutes her with a wink.

As the elevator descends, she jerks her arm away. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m not your property to just drag around!”

He scoffs, staring straight ahead. “I thought you’d be thankful. Saving you from the ‘infuriating jackass’, remember?” 

“I don’t need saving. I can handle myself.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a proud feminist.”

She stares at him, in awe of his cruel, patronizing tone. After a few seconds, he also seems startled by what he said. Her eyes blaze with annoyance as the elevator doors open. “Screw you, Ethan." 

“Lea, I–"

But she stalks off and finds Liz, telling her to give any and all rounds to her tonight. She feels no need to go home. 

Chapter Text

At around seven A.M., after Liz informs her that no more rounds actually exist, she practically pushes Lea out of the sliding doors. The brisk, fall air that whips around her is plenty to wake her up.

She sighs, unlocking her car and ducking into the driver's seat; her anger had mostly dissipated by now, brutal exhaustion replacing it. After the drive home, she pulls into the parking garage of Ethan's penthouse and slinks up the stairs.

Sienna, Elijah, Jackie, and Aurora were disappointed at her departure, but teased her incessantly when she said she's “transferring to a new apartment.”

“Is one of the facilities of this ‘new apartment’ a tall, lean, sexy doctor with penetrating blue eyes?” Jackie wiggled her eyebrows.

“That’s not the only thing that’ll be penetrating,” Elijah added, earning a slap on the shoulder from Sienna.

“Guys! We should be happy for Lea.” She blushed. “No matter who her new roommate is.”

“Why can’t you two just tell the truth?” Aurora asked.

Everyone turned to stare at her.

Elijah blinked. “Have you forgotten that your aunt is the former chief of our hospital? The chief that instituted the ethics code about relationships? A resident can’t exactly date the Chief of Diagnostics.” 

Aurora just shrugged. “Since when are you all the type to obey every word my aunt says?”

Jackie and Elijah smirked and held up hands for Aurora to high five. “ I knew I liked you,” Jackie voiced.

“Actually, you hated me. All of you did.” 

“And look how far we’ve come!” Sienna cheered gleefully, sending them all into fits of laughter.

She sighs, walking through the darkwood and gold hallway to Ethan’s door, past panels of shimmering lights and tall panes of glass. Certainly an upgrade from the gang’s previous shoebox.

God, she misses them. Usually, she sees them at work, but none of them decided to specialize in neuro, so it's few and far between. They sit down to eat lunch for ten minutes before someone gets paged, and leaves with a hurried 'sorry!'

She turns the lock and walks inside, dumping her bag on the couch and collapsing into the cream cushions. After a few seconds, her stomach growls, and she groans, forcing herself upright.

She ambles to the kitchen, moving directly to the fridge, but stops when she sees something twinkle in her peripherals. After turning around, she sees a large glass bowl, with a bouquet of red roses next to it. 

The bowl is filled to the brim with chocolate– Toblerone, almond joys, Ghirardelli squares. A gold ribbon ties the bouquet together, a card attached at the end. She unravels the ribbon.

'I'm sorry. I’m an idiot. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.'

She clutches the card to her heart with a smile. How could she ever stay mad at this man? 

[ethan]

After he closes the door and hangs up his coat, he looks at the digital clock on the kitchen archway. 11 P.M.

He was hoping to get home earlier, but the Diagnostics team couldn’t, for the life of them, figure out why their patient was having a stroke every few hours.

More interestingly, they couldn’t figure out the order – Teresa O’Malley rotated from an ischemic stroke, to a hemorrhagic, to a transient ischemic. Over and over again. Ischemic, hemorrhagic, transient. The nurses practically went cross-eyed checking her vitals and resuscitating her. 

As he scans the living room, he sees that her bag is on the table, which is a good sign. She didn’t spend another night at the hospital. Glancing at the table, he sees that the roses are in a vase. Another good sign. But the card is crumpled up, on top of the untouched bowl of chocolates. Not a great sign.

He hears shuffling from the bedroom, and anticipates to hear the flick of the light being turned off, but he doesn’t.

With a deep exhale, he decides to do one, last thing. Quickly washing two mugs and dumping water in them, he strolls down the hallway and leans against the doorway.

She’s on her stomach, a thick medical study in front of her, blowing some errant strands of hair out of her eyes as she scans the pages.

He smiles to himself. Of course.

He clears his throat, and she looks up.

“Hey.” Her voice is hesitant.

“Hello.” Her eyes flicker down to the mugs in his hand, and the corners of her lips tug up. 

“That for me?” She closes the study and shuffles up, wrinkling the comforter before sitting back on her heels.

“No. These are both for me.” She rolls her eyes with a small smile.

He sits on the edge of the bed and she scoots closer to him. He passes the mug to her and hesitates for a few seconds, but kisses the top of her head.

She rotates the lavender mug in her hands and laughs loudly. “My favorite!” 

It's almost as cute as her first reaction, when she unwrapped it last Christmas– and it was the ugliest, most obnoxious gift in the world. In cursive, pink lettering, the mug reads:

today, i’m trying to be an awesome neurosurgeon, but i’m exhausted from being such a fucking awesome neurosurgeon yesterday

She brings her nose to the steam curling above the mug. “Jasmine.”

She looks at him with an unreadable expression, before tears well in her eyes. 

Well, shit. Not the reaction he was hoping for. 

He blinks, quickly placing their mugs on the side table, and holds her face in his hands. 

His thumbs wipe away the small tears tumbling down her face. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffs, grabbing his wrists and pulling his arms into her lap. “I don’t deserve you.” 

He pulls back, shocked. “What?” 

“You do all these nice things for me,” she gestures at the mugs. “And I just stormed away, and left you alone all night.” She stares down at her lap, where their hands lay, together.

He can’t hide the amusement on his face, and a small huff of laughter leaves his mouth.

Her head lifts up. “Why are you laughing?” 

“Because,” he raises her palm to his cheek. “It’s such a you thing to do. Feeling bad despite my own idiocy.” 

She sniffs, and he ducks his face to look at her.

“I am not deserving of you. Not the other way around.”

“That’s not true!” she huffs, wiping at her face. “I’m sor–” 

He places a hand over her mouth. “You didn’t do anything. I’m sorry. I should’ve known better than to talk to you like that. I was jealous and I took it out on you. I’ll make sure that I never treat you like that again,” he says gently, tucking a thin strand of hair behind her ear.

His fists clench. “It’s just… even the mention of his name gets me heated. He’s taken so many people from me. I don’t want him to take you, too.”

She lets out a laugh, but it's muffled by his hand. He feels her lick his palm.

He jerks away. “Really?” 

She shrugs. “It got in the way.” 

“Of?”

Suddenly, he feels her lips on his, for just a moment. He smiles against her mouth, and she pulls away.

“You couldn’t get rid of me, even if you tried. And I accept your apology. And I love you. Very much.” 

He relaxes, and places his forehead on hers. “I love you, more.”

“That’s a whole lot, then.”

She stares at him for a while, before collapsing on the comforter with a huff. “Why can’t we just tell everyone?” 

His eyes soften. “You know why.”

“But practically everyone knows already!”

“You know the code. Residents and interns can’t have romantic relationships with their superiors.”

“Okay, first of all, you are not my superior. At least, not in capability." He laughs.

“Second of all, Harper made that rule. And now Naveen is our Chief.” 

He leans over her, resting his head on his elbow. “We can’t break risking the ethics code. And you’ve accomplished so much at Edenbrook. Hell, you specialized in neuro and served on the Diagnostics team; you read medical journals in your free time. I will not let you lose your job. You’re too good of a doctor."

She sulks and turns away from him. “You’re too good of a doctor." 

He laughs and bends over her, burying his face in her shoulder.

“Did you just mock me?”

“Yep.”

“Hmph.” He wraps his arm around her hip and pins her down, and  starts squeezing her sides and stomach.

“Ethan!” She shrieks and squirms under his grip. He continues until he sees the familiar smile on her face.

“Asshole.”

“You love it.” 

“I do.” She nods.

He rubs her shoulders. “Just one more year.”

She groans. “Why did I choose the specialty with the longest–"

“Yes. The longest residency. I know. But it’s not your fault that you're incredibly brilliant and determined.” He stops, and frowns. “Wait– why didn’t you eat the chocolate?” 

A sly smile spreads on her face, and she crawls towards him on her hands and knees. “I was thinking that there are some more exciting ways to use them.”

She kisses the back of his neck, moving down to the curve of his shoulders. But he gently picks up her forearms and places them down, feeling her frown against his back.

“Our tea will get cold. Come on.” He leans back against the pillow. “Tell me about what you’re reading.”

Her face lights up and she lays her head on his shoulder, one hand gripping her mug, and the other holding the journal.

“Okay, so it's about how circular RNAs modulate brain functions in neurological disorders…” 

She summarizes the study almost frantically, her eyes sparkling with vitality, hands gesturing wildly in the air, words tumbling out of her mouth. 

He listens, but every few minutes, he can’t help but stare at her, affection peeking through his gaze, each time. 

Chapter Text

[lea]

“Are you serious?” 

The next afternoon, she finds herself shrieking and jumping up and down in the middle of the hospital lobby. Doctors and nurses glance over in annoyed confusion.

“Yes!” Sienna squeals.

“Oh my god! Sienna!” She laughs and twirls her in her arms. 

“Okay...” Sienna sways. “I’m dizzy.” 

“Let me see!”

Sienna holds up the back of her hand. She gasps and tugs it closer to her.

The ring is beautiful. Pear-shaped and champagne colored, with white diamonds.  

“Holy– Sienna! This is gorgeous!”

She giggles and nods. “I know! He knows me so well.”

“Where is Danny?” She excitedly looks around. “Where's my favorite nurse?” 

She spends the rest of the day eagerly telling everyone the news, in between her rounds (with Sienna’s blessing).

“Our best friend is an engaged woman!” She holds up Sienna’s hand in the cafeteria. Elijah and Jackie cheer below her. 

She can’t help it. During the six years of her residency, her and Sienna had grown impossibly close.

Sienna was there when Ethan first pushed her away. She brought the dark chocolate and caramel corn. And the Lizzie McGuire movie.

But she forgot that Lizzie had a crush on a boy named Ethan Craft, which made her cry for another four hours. After hastily closing that Netflix tab, Sienna put on Rugrats, and seeing cute babies made her content, again.

Every time her and Ethan had a fight, Sienna listened with a sympathetic, but rational ear; assuring her that this fight would quickly be forgotten.

And she was there when Sienna’s brother died, and goes back to Jersey with her every year to visit his grave.

One year, on the anniversary of his death, Sienna showed up to her and Ethan’s apartment at two A.M., drenched from a nasty Boston thunderstorm. As soon as she opened the door with sleepy eyes, Sienna fell into her arms and sobbed, all night. Ethan slept on the couch to give Sienna the bed.

They were together during the twenty hour shifts and the daunting ER triages after plane crashes, earthquakes, bombings. The nights spent crying because an attending yelled at them, or told them that they shouldn’t be in medicine.

Sienna knows pain all too well, and she deserves happiness. Bursting-at-the-seams kind of happiness. 

She finds Danny in the ER and runs up to him, lifting him off the floor with loud congratulations, and a rough tousle of his hair.

He smiles sheepishly at the patient he’s treating. But the man seems to share her infectious excitement, and congratulates him as well.  

Sienna, right behind her, shyly shuffles up to Danny. He wraps an arm around her waist, and, not caring much about ethics, apparently, kisses her on the cheek. 

“This is my girl.” 

And Sienna beams.

––

After their shifts, her, Ethan, Danny, and Sienna go to Donahue’s. She orders drinks for the whole table, receiving a disgusted look from Ethan when she comes back with two strawberry-peach margaritas for her and Sienna, complete with the pink sugar rim.

He lets out a relieved sigh when she makes another trip, coming back with two beers. When she slides in the booth, she kisses his cheek, and he rolls his eyes. Sienna tilts her head in confusion.

“The first time I forced him to go on an actual date with me, Ethan suggested that we order each other drinks. To see if we knew each other. Naturally, I bought him a blue margarita with salt.”

He groans, pinching his nose with his fingers.

Danny blinks. “He really doesn’t seem like a margarita guy to me.”

“Thank you, Danny.”

“Well, I took it as which drink reminds me the most of him. And, I chose the blue margarita, because it's an unpredictable and convoluted drink." 

He shakes his head, dropping it in his hands.

“You think the teal looks pretty, and safe, but then the salt makes you pucker. And then, it seems like the orange liqueur will make it too sugary, but then, the lime hits. And all while, the tequila hits you like a hematoma after a huge blood vessel.”

Sienna looks at Danny and Ethan. “Neurosurgeons are weird,” she whispers.

“Also, he just has really sexy blue eyes.”

“Lea!” Ethan snaps. “Someone from the hospital might be here!”

She hums wistfully, grabbing his chin and angling it towards Danny and Sienna. “See? Just dreamy.”

Sienna giggles. “What is with you right now?” 

“I believe that she’s had a bit too much to drink." He pats her head after she leans on his shoulder. 

“I haven’t had any liquor yet! I’m just drunk on the view of love. Young love." She looks at Danny and Sienna fondly.

They all stare at her.

“Okay. Maybe the champagne we snuck into the resident call room hit me, just a bit.”

Ethan shoots her a look.

“I’m a lightweight! Anyways. Enough about me.” She leans forward. “Tell me everything.” 

Sienna and Danny look at each other with a shared blush. “Do you wanna–”

“Should I–” They stutter at the same time. 

“God,” Ethan mutters. “They really are perfect for one another.”

“I’ll go,” Sienna smiles at Danny, and wraps her hand around his on the table.

“Okay. So, last night, Danny and I were hanging out at his apartment, and as you both know, the first thing we bonded over was The Secret of Ninradell.

“So, we were rewatching TSON, and we got to our favorite part, where William starts giving his monologue in the cave.”

Danny takes over, looking at Sienna shyly. “We know it by heart.” 

“Every time we watch it, we like to try to recite it, we like to have this competition, where Danny says one sentence, and then I say the next, and we keep doing that until the monologue is over. Well, it's not really a competition anymore, since we both know it. It's been a while since either of us made a mistake,” she giggles.

“But finally, Danny has the last line of the monologue. And the line is, ‘Ragnar is a wicked man. But he is not irredeemable.’ But when he was reciting it, he said, ‘Ragnar is an evil man. But he is not irredeemable.’”

Ethan gasps. “The horror!” 

Sienna and Danny are too wrapped up in each other to care. “So, I was shocked, right? Because he hadn’t messed up in forever! And, I was like, ‘Danny! It's wicked, not evil.’ But he frowned, and said…” 

“'No, Si. It's definitely evil. You’re remembering wrong.' And she said…” 

“'No, it's not! You’re wrong!' And he said…”

Ethan groans quietly. “God help me.”

“'Fine! I have the book in my room! Let’s check.'”

“So, I went to his room and got the book. Anxious to prove him wrong, I plopped down next to him and flicked through the pages. And finally, I got to the cave scene. I was about to tell him ‘hah!’, but when I turned the last page, something tumbled out.

“In my lap, I saw…” she beams, looking down at her hand. Danny rubs his thumb over the ring.

“And Danny got down on one knee, and well, you know the rest, I guess.” 

They look at each other with the most sincere, deepest kind of devotion in their eyes.

“And that’s how we got here.” Danny leans his forehead against hers. 

She sighs, head still on Ethan’s shoulder. "Young love really does exist.” 

He frowns at her. “You just came to this conclusion?” 

“I said young love."

He rolls his eyes, shrugging her off. “Get off my shoulder.” 

“So, Lea,” Sienna starts, quietly.

Her head snaps back. “Yeah?”

“I was hoping…” She looks down at her hands under the table. “I was hoping you’d be my maid of honor."

Her mouth drops open. “Me? Are you sure? What about Jackie, or Aurora, or that girl you're friends with in peds–”

Sienna smiles softly, reaching out to put her hand over hers. “You’re my best friend. I would really love it if you accepted.” 

“Yes!” she shouts, gathering the attention of every patron. “Yes! I would love to! When should we start planning? What color bridesmaid's dresses do you want? And the venue? And–”

“So, I was thinking around Christmastime….” 

Ethan sighs and leans his head back against the booth.

“Hey, uh, Dr. Ram– I mean, uh. Ethan? I know we’re not very close, but you could be one of my groomsmen, so both Lea and you can be in the procession," Danny says, hesitantly. 

Ethan raises his eyebrows. “That’s very considerate of you, Danny. I would like that.” 

Danny visibly relaxes. “Awesome. Cool. Thanks, man.” 

Chapter Text

[ethan]

The two girls excitedly chat about the wedding well into the night. Sometime in the A.M.’s, they’re thoroughly intoxicated.

He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I’m going to head home. I sincerely hope you have an easier time with Sienna than I have with that one.” 

They’re dancing on one of the tables, and when she starts to tease the bottom of her shirt, Ethan stands up.

“O-kay,” he walks to the table and lifts her down. “Time to go, Dr. Roberts.”

Danny looks at him, sympathetically. “So, she’s a stripper drunk?”

“Oh, no. It's much worse.”

Danny looks confused. “What do you–”

“Ethan! I was telling Sienna about this amazing new study– so, they’re analyzing surgeries on pituitary fossa and parasellar regions, right? So, usually, the extracranial transsphenoidal approach comes to mind. But, now they’re looking at optic magnification for things like chordomas, microadenomas, or craniopharyngiomas. This can lead us in the right direction of a cure for hypopituitarism without any major damage to other pituitary glands!” 

Danny blinks. Sienna is furiously nodding, muttering an “mhm” or “right” every few words.

“Is… is she speaking another language?”

“I have ten more years of experience as a physician. And I'm the director of a world-renowned diagnostics team. And I still don’t know what the hell she’s talking about, sometimes.” Though he may sound irritated, a small smile twitches on his face.

“Come on, now. Let’s get you home, girl genius.” Ethan wraps his arm around her waist and leads her out, Danny and Sienna close behind. “Will you be able to get home safe?” 

Danny nods. “Thanks for tonight. It was special. It made me happy to see Sienna smile so much, you know. Because of you both.” 

The girls hug each other goodbye, and his gaze softens a bit. “She’s the one who makes it special.” 

Danny has a knowing smile on his face. He elbows him. “You know, it could be you next.”

He feels like he should shoot him down quickly, or scoff. But he doesn’t.

“Maybe.”

--

By the time they get home, his head was spinning. Suprasellar expansion, acromegaly, physiological eupituitarism– he forgets what regular English sounds like. 

As soon as he parks his car in the garage, she walks over and wraps her arms around his waist. “Carry me.”

He sighs, bending down and pulling her into his arms. Her head rests on his shoulder, and she trails a hand down his chest, tracing circles around the buttons of his shirt. “Ethan.”

“Yes?” He pushes the button of the elevator and steps in a few moments later. 

“Can I say something dumb?”

Setting her down, he unlocks the door and leads her inside. “I ensure you that I know enough about Rathke’s pouch cysts–” 

“No." She whips around. The movement makes her stumble a bit, and Ethan holds her waist to steady her.
“It’s dumb.”

He sits her down on the couch, kneeling down to untie her shoes and pull them off. “You are incapable of ‘dumb’.”

Picking her up, once again, he walks to the bedroom and places her down. “Trust me. Even Danny knows that, now. Up.” He tugs at the hem of her sweater. She raises her arms, and he pulls it up and over her head. 

“Danny is nice.” She sighs as he stands her up. He unbuttons her jeans and rolls them off of her legs.

“He is, indeed.”

He pulls out pajamas from the dresser, but, when he turns around, she’s face down on the comforter. Sighing, he puts them back, moving the blanket out from beneath her.

When he sits down, one of her hands reaches out. He takes hold of it and pulls her into his chest.

“Let’s have sex,” she mumbles, throwing a leg over his hip. 

He laughs, deep in his chest, and gingerly places her leg down. “Not tonight, girl genius.”

She huffs, but tucks her head deeper into his neck.

“Isn’t it stupid?” she murmurs.

“What’s stupid?”

“The thing I said that was stupid.”

“You never told me what that stupid thing was.”

“Well, good. ‘Cause it was stupid.” 

He laughs, tightening his grip around her. “Go to bed. Sleep.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, more.”

But as she drifts off, Ethan feels the vibration of her usual whispers against his neck. Most nights, it’s medicine-related. Other nights, it’s nonsense.

“Neoplasm. Oversecretion.”

Tonight, it's the former, apparently. 

Right before his eyelids start to fall, he hears one, last thing:

“Who cares about marriage, anyway?” 

He doesn’t have much time to register it before they flutter shut.

––

The days seem to pass quickly. Her drunken mumbles from that night are quickly forgotten.

With him wrapped up in diagnostics– they're still stumped by Teresa’s strokes– and her balancing her last year of residency, and Carrick’s bullshit, and Sienna’s wedding planning, they hardly see each other. 

And when he does see her, its when she’s under him– on their bed, in the shower, on the table, his name tumbling out of her mouth; or when she’s on top of him in an on-call room, eyes fluttered close, head thrown back 

Not that he’s complaining. But he does miss the nights where she rambles about the amazing craniotomy she performed that day, or the nights where they watch medical dramas and make fun of every single medical inconsistency.

This becomes exceedingly clear one day as she flounces into the on-call room, slamming the door behind her and flipping the lock. He looks up and closes the book he was reading. “Hey–”

But before he could say anything, she’s pounced on him, pressing her lips against his. He lets out a surprised sound before relenting, letting their mouths graze one another.

She smiles against his lips, running a hand down his chest and to his zipper. But he reaches down and grabs her wrist. 

She sits back on her heels, pupils dilated, hair already a bit ruffled. “You don’t want to?” 

“No.”

Her face falls.

He jumps to clarify. “No, not– yes, of course I do. I always want to."

Her expression relaxes. “Then why–” 

“I just miss you.” 

She blinks. “I miss you, too. I always miss you. But we’ve seen each other every day for the past few weeks. Haven’t we?” She frowns, her mind trying to recall. 

“We have, but,” he sits up, gathering her in his lap. “We haven’t seen each other. All we do is work and have sex.”

She opens her mouth, and he responds, without her having to speak.

“Yes. Of course I want it. Always. I just miss spending time with you.”

Her eyelashes flicker, and she collapses onto his chest. “I’m sorry. It’s just– with the wedding planning, and all these new surgeries, and my residency winding down…” 

“I know. But you haven’t slept in a bed for a week. And you’re losing weight.” His hands float down her ribs to her hips.

“I’m not!” 

He slips a hand in the waistband of her scrubs, and slides it to the back. “I know your body.”

Sure enough, she’s bunched up the fabric there and tied it with an elastic. She looks down guiltily. 

“I’m just so stressed all the time,” she admits, fumbling with her hands. “I guess that’s why I’m just so eager to…”

“Have sex with me.”

“Well, you make it sound like a bad thing.”

“It’s not.” He lifts her chin up. “But, it's not necessarily a smart thing to do when you haven’t eaten or slept in days.” 

She deflates. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. I miss you too.” 

He draws her face in his hands. “Let me help you.”

“How?”

The despair written on her face sends a dull pain to his chest. He thinks for a moment. 

“Let me make you dinner tonight.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Dinner?”

“Yes. Let me take care of you.”

He watches as hope flicks in her eyes. Followed by excitement. But, then– disappointment.

“I can’t,” she sniffs, dropping her face in her hands. “I have to do a stupid biopsy with Carrick tonight.” 

He pries her fingers away. “I’ll ask Naveen to reschedule it.”

“How do you know he’ll say yes?”

“I did save his life that one time."

A small smile peeks through her sad features. But her face crumbles, again.

“But after the biopsy, I promised Sienna I would meet her for cake tasting at Café Madeline.” 

“We’ll ask for someone else.”

“But–”

“Jackie and Aurora are her other bridesmaids, correct? And the nurses from pediatrics?” 

“Yeah, but–”

“Listen to me.” He shakes her head in his hands. “It’s cake. It will be eaten for ten minutes and then forgotten. Plus, your taste in cakes is questionable. Who truly likes strawberry shortcake?”

The tinkling sounds of her laughter fill the room.

“There’s that laugh. It feels like I haven’t heard it in a long time.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“Nothing is too good for you.” 

She lets out a long breath. “Okay. My surgery will be okay. Sienna will be okay. Everything will be okay.” 

“It will be better than okay. I promise. I’ll even make those nauseating pumpkin cookies you enjoy, for whatever reason.”

“You know I love those!” She beams. “By the way, what are we dressing up as for Halloween?”

--

At five, he has to drag her from the last of her rounds. In fact, she was initially off at three, but her guilt walked her across the hospital to assist Bryce with additional surgical rounds. 

So, he swiftly crosses the glass bridge and catches her apologizing to Naveen at the internal medicine desk.

She’s gesturing wildly as he looks on in amusement. “I sincerely apologize, Dr. Banerji. Please be assured that I will make up the missed surgery and put in the extra hours to assist Dr. Carrick with the deep brain stimulations, and–” 

“Alright, then.” He meets them in two strides. “I believe that Dr. Banerji understands your apologies.”

Naveen looks at him, his eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“Yes, indeed. Dr. Roberts, it is quite okay. In fact, you are the only resident who hasn’t rescheduled a surgery in the entirety of their residency. Go. Please. Enjoy yourself.” 

She relaxes. “Thank you so much, I–”

“We’re leaving.”

He takes her hand and pulls her across the bridge, shooting Naveen a thankful look over his shoulder. And he just winks back. 

Twenty minutes later, in the parking lot, Sienna finally calms her down with what seems like a hundred ‘it’s okay! it's just cake!’s.

“How do you put up with this?” Sienna whispers to him.

“I’m glad you didn’t witness the exchange that resulted from her missing one of my talks in Florida because of her six hour translabyrinthine craniotomy.”

“I will never forgive myself for that,” she says solemnly, looking down at the concrete.

He shakes his head and leads them to the car. “Let’s go.” 

They weave through Boston traffic on the way home, her yelling whenever a driver cuts them off. 

“You know,” he begins. “I feel like I should be displeased that it took quite a bit of effort just to spend time with me.”

Guilt washes over her face. “I promise it's not like that. I’m just–”

“Dedicated to your job? A loyal friend? Occasionally neurotic?”

She smiles sheepishly. “All of the above, I guess.” 

“I know. And I love every single one. Even when they drive me up the wall.” His right hand reaches over and settles in her lap. “Just promise me you’ll try to relax."

She squeezes his hand tightly, a resolute look on her face. “I’ll try. I promise.”

––

Thirty minutes later, he stirs the pot on the stove, as she spins on one of the stools in the kitchen.

“It’s just frustrating, you know? I know I’m the resident, and he’s the attending– the ‘brains of the brain.'"

She rolls her eyes.

“But during the MRI ablation today, it would’ve been so much easier to drill the hole closer to the mid scalp region. But he insisted that it should be closer to the crown of the patient’s head. And, what do you know!”

She brandishes her wine glass in the air, the dark red liquid rippling from side to side. “It took us an hour longer to reach the tumor because the fiber optic laser had to be adjusted so many times."

 “You’re a better surgeon than him. We already knew this.”  

“Yeah, but it's just so infuriating! No one ever listens to the baby resident. I can do an endoscopy in my sleep!”

He turns around and sets the two bowls on the counter. She stops her rant and places her wine glass down.

“Ethan.” She looks at the bowl and looks back up at him affectionately. “This looks amazing.”

Steaming bowls of tortellini carbonara sit in thick, ceramic bowls, steaming garlic and fresh parsley. 

“I know.” 

She rolls her eyes and he sits on the stool next to her. “And no–?” 

“No bacon.”

She beams.

“Damn vegetarians,” he mutters. She shoves his shoulder playfully.

Stabbing a fork into the pasta and lifting it into her mouth, she moans. “This is heavenly.” 

“You can’t make those sounds around me.”

She spins on her stool to look at him, and raises an eyebrow. “Why? And how? We have sex every day. Sometimes, before and after my rounds."

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

She leans forward and tugs on his collar. “Well, now you can't say those things to me.”

She leans in to kiss him, but he gently pushes her back, looking pointedly at her bowl.

“Oh, fine.”

Every few minutes, when he stares at her, a small smile spreads against his fork. Hair falling into the pasta, faint purple circles under her eyes, as she shovels the tortellini shells into her mouth.

Then, they talk. About everything– him complaining about the stroke patient the team couldn’t figure out, her excitedly talking about the color of the bridesmaids dresses. Debating about the (in)ethics of beauty pageants and if alcohol shouldn't be sold on weekends. 

After they finish, she bumps his hip when he tries to help with the dishes, and he pokes her side. This leads to her grabbing his hand and pushing him against the island. Which then leads to him lifting her onto the counter and standing between her legs. Which then leads to their lips searching for each other, whispering things across their necks, jaws for twenty minutes.

He finally pulls away, making her frown. “As much as I want to keep going, I did plan a few more things tonight.”

“You’re spoiling me.”

“One of the many things I do best."

He pushes her in the direction of the living room and disappears into the hallway. When he comes back, she’s reclining on the couch cushions, swirling the liquid in her wine glass.

And when she sees what he’s holding in his hands, she nearly drops the glass in excitement.

“Really?”

He nods reluctantly, placing the tattered, skinny red box on the coffee table.

“Med-Scrabble!” She claps and hurries to open the box.

He sighs.

Med-Scrabble was her invention one night, after a lot of tequila. Most of the staff gathered at her and her friends’ old apartment for their housewarming. (He wasn’t quite sure why Ines or Zaid were there.)

They all began to argue about which drinking game they should play, while he rubbed his forehead in the corner of the room. He truly didn’t understand why he had attended. 

“Rage cage is a classic!” Elijah yelled.  

“I don’t think I feel comfortable playing a game entitled ‘rage cage’ with my interns.” Zaid scowls.

“Well, then why the hell did you even show up?” Jackie retorted, an arm around Lea. 

He huffed and didn’t say anything.

“What about a board game, instead?” Sienna chimed in.

“How old are we? Ten?” Bryce whined. “Also, we only have Scrabble, and I’m not about to play with Grandpa over there.” He j erked this thumb at Zaid, who huffed, again. 

“Hmm…” Lea muttered, before an evil smile spread on her face. “I have an idea.”

And that’s how Med-Scrabble came to be. Each word had to be medically recognized by the ICD, DSM, or the WHO.

That rule came into play when Elijah tried spelling ‘sick’, and got handfuls of popcorn thrown at him. Ever since then, Med-Scrabble has been her gang’s go-to party game. And the day that she moved in, the sharpie-covered, worn red box was balanced on top of the rest of her things.

He sighed. Apparently, it was their housewarming gift, and they insisted that his penthouse must be re-christened. 

As the amount of their stay in date nights grew exponentially, she begged him to play Med-Scrabble. The first few times it was fun, but he quickly realized that she was much more knowledgeable about medical terminology, which meant he never won.

Turns out losing a game where success relies on your own profession is quite demoralizing. To her disappointment, he insisted that the game be stricken from date night. He placated her by promising that he would watch a romance movies with her instead. So, she eagerly accepted the deal.

But, after the past trying few weeks, he decides to sacrifice his own pride. Because, God knows that winning is one of the things that cheers her up, quickly. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She places hurried kisses on his face. 

“Yes, yes.” He sinks onto the couch beside her. “Go crazy, girl genius.”

An evil smile spreads on her face. 

––

After an hour, she wins with ‘insula.’

“What in the hell is that?”

“Ethan, it's a region in the cerebral cortex. I’m a neurosurgeon."

But her expression is practically dazzling with joy. They tidy up the game, and he puts on her favorite romance movie, which sets him on the receiving end of many grateful kisses.

“Thank you. For all of this, I needed it. It made me so happy. You make me so happy."

“You’re welcome.” He strokes her hair. “You deserve it.”

As the credits roll, he looks down at her, her head now on his lap.

“Hm. You always fall asleep after this movie. And you had wine.”

She laughs and pokes his abdomen. “It usually does, but–” She trails her fingers up his chest to pull at his collar. “I had something else in mind.” She slides from his lap down to her knees.

He swallows. “Lea, it’s late–”

“Is it?” She runs his hands up his legs to his thighs. “It’s easy to lose track of time when I’m with you.”

He tenses as her thumbs brush against his belt and start to pull the leather through the buckle. “Oh, really?”

She hums in response, hooking her fingers through the belt loops and yanking him forward. 

“Lea–”

But she ignores him, pulling his jeans and boxers down. And, before he can register what’s happening, she taken his length between her lips, and a loud groan slips from his mouth.

“God.”

She draws up and down leisurely, holding his gaze beneath her eyelashes. After a few minutes, her tongue winds faster around him, her hand moving in concert.

His head falling back against the couch, he draws his hand into her hair. Her free hand drifts up his thighs and settles on his. Her fingers wrap around his and pulls.

He swears and roughly twists the strands of her hair between his knuckles, eliciting her breathy moan around him. Tiny needles of warmth start to fight against his skin, and his chest vigorously heaves up and down. An overwhelming pressure starts to run the course of his body.

“Lea,” his voice is deep, gravelly. “I’m going to–”  

And she takes care, the length of him hitting the back of her throat. White knuckles grip the edge of the couch, and the other hand still settles in her hair, his palm roughly pressing down. And, finally, the pressure blooms, the heat finds its full height, and he lets himself come in her mouth with a rapid chanting of her name.

After a few seconds, she detaches herself and sits back on her knees, wiping her mouth with a smile. He huffs an incredulous laugh, deep in this throat. Pulling her up, he holds her face in his hands.

“You are exquisite.” He presses his lips against hers. “But tonight was supposed to be about you.”

”You’re a part of me.”

His blinks, shaking his head in disbelief. “How did I find you?” 

“As I said at the bar,” she flicks his nose. “There is something beneath Dr. Ethan Ramsey’s scrutinizing, hardass exterior.”

“Only for you.” Then he pulls back, cringing. “Don’t give the other residents any ideas.”

His hand drifts down her chest, to the waistline of her jeans. “Can I recompense?” 

She laughs, wrinkling her nose. "That's the least sexy way of offering to give me head that you could've ever have thought of."

He frowns, and she pokes his cheek.

"Rain check? I just want you to hold me for tonight.” 

She yelps as he lifts her in his arms and deposits her on the bed. “Anything for my girl genius."

“Your girl genius who gives incredible head.”

“Can’t I be romantic for one moment?"

Chapter Text

[lea]

The next few months are better. For a bit.

She works to better manage her time, no longer overcommitting to surgeries, and starts to delegate Sienna’s wedding tasks to the rest of the bridesmaids.

Unfortunately, Ethan’s team is no closer to solving Teresa’s case, and sometimes, she cries of frustration in an on-call room when Carrick overassigns her rounds. But she stops spending nights at the hospital, and while her and Ethan might not have time for dinner every night, at least they sleep in the same bed. 

Halloween comes around a few days later, and the kids in the pediatric ward can't stop giggling at Ethan’s prince costume. It's complete with the royal blue and red cape, and a thick gold crown is nestled in his tidy hair. It took a lot of convincing, and a lot of kisses. Everywhere.

Accordingly, she wears pale pink scrubs under her white coat, and a tiara lined with glitter perches on her own head.

“I don’t see why my costume has to be so… involved.” He sighed that morning, as she adjusted the clasp of his cape.

“Because it's not fair that the rest of us have to walk around in sweaty scrubs all day while Diagnostics gets to wear whatever they want under their white coats."

'"It's not my fault I’m a world-renowned diagnostics director," he muttered.

“Come my Prince.” She held his hands as they walked to the car. “Our carriage awaits.”

Knowing smiles follow them around the hospital. Smirks from Bryce and Elijah, “aww"s from Sienna and Ines, eye rolls from Zaid and Jackie, and a once-over of her from Carrick (which is met by Ethan’s murderous glare). 

“What are we even hiding at this point? Even Naveen, the Chief of this hospital knows!”  

Carrick insists on calling her “Princess” during each surgery, and some nurses still try to flirt with Ethan, so she feels the same annoyance that he felt earlier.  

But they win the costume contest, so there’s that.

--

On Thanksgiving, her and Ethan decide on something quiet, as usual. Neither of them had much family to return to during the holidays. Besides, he's her family, and she's his.

As they cuddle on the couch, watching a Thanksgiving holiday movie, him lifting pumpkin spice ice cream to her mouth, they hear a loud knock on their door. She gives him a questioning look, to which he returns. 

He opens the door, and it seems like the entire hospital pours into the penthouse.

Elijah, Bryce, Jackie, Sienna, Danny, Aurora, and Rafael tumble in with large bowls covered by aluminum foil. Some of their interns trickle in. Ines, Zaid, June, Harper, even Naveen follows behind. 

Wide eyed, Ethan and her stutter an explanation as to why she’s there, but they all ignore the two.

She scans the immediate area around her– her jacket hanging on the coat rack, her tubes of her lipstick on the counter, her hair ties all over the coffee table. “Well, I suppose there’s no point in hiding anymore.” 

"Finally!" she yells, raising her hands in celebration.

He freezes when the last person slinks through their door.

“Who the hell let him in? Who let any of you in?” Ethan glares at Carrick, who saunters in with the attendings.

“Ah, come now, Ethan.” Naveen claps him on the shoulder. “Thanksgiving is about family. Edenbrook is family.”

“Well, perhaps he can be the callous uncle that's kicked out of every family gathering.”

Before they even know what's happening, turkey, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, all Thanksgiving favorites cover every inch of the kitchen. Cartons of ciders and beers are plopped onto the coffee table. Stools and chairs are pulled up around the couch, and someone switches the station to a football game.

The flurry of movement and chatter around them makes Ethan groan, and he buries his head in his hands. 

She pats his shoulder sympathetically, but a part of her felt grateful, to have this dysfunctional, slightly inappropriate and unethical family on Thanksgiving.

[ethan]

He slams the door to his office, angrily running a hand through his hair. “Dammit!”

“Ethan?” His head snaps up to see Lea in his chair, flipping through one of his medical journals, clearly startled.

She crosses the office to him, resting a hand on his cheek. "What’s up?”

His eyes soften for a fleeting moment, but he shrugs her off. “It’s the stroke patient. Teresa O’Malley. We have been working at it for months! And have decoded damn all. She’s stroking out almost every single week, now. The brain damage–”

“Will kill her eventually,” she finishes quietly. He nods grimly, and slumps in his chair.

“This case is completely unprecedented. No one has ever seen this frequency and variation of strokes. At least, not this tessellated, recurrent sequence. A diagnosis for this could completely change how the medical field approaches strokes. Hell, how it evaluates the mere occurrence of these hyper-specific medical sequences."

She sits on the edge of his desk, placing a hand over his. “You’re going to figure this out. If anyone can, it's you.” 

“Thank you.”

But his half-hearted smile is entirely unconvincing. He looks for a pen to scribble down their– well, lack of– progress in his charts, but stops.

“Not to be curt, but why are you here?” He immediately winces at his own tone.

“The groomsmen’s fitting?”

“Ah, shit." He presses a hand to his forehead. “I completely forgot. Is there any way–”

“I’ll let Danny know that you’re busy," she says softly. But her smile is a bit tight. “Plus, I know your measurements already. I’m sure they won't be much different at the shop.”

He kisses her hand. “What did I do to deserve you?”  

[lea]

Christmas draws near, and Sienna and Danny’s wedding comes with it.

The last few days of work in December are demanding and wearying, as a substantial number of the hospital's staff are attending next Tuesday's wedding themselves. Which leaves quite a few patients without a physician for the week.

They're all fidgety and agitated, so the once cordial hallway conversations are replaced by hurried strides with heads buried in tablets or clipboards. Group lunches are abandoned, so the pockets of their coats and scrubs hold granola bars or fruit, which they quickly make use of between the ensuing rounds.

She manages to make it home every night, but he does not. She usually finds him the next morning in his office, asleep on his couch, or staring at the papers in front of him with bloodshot eyes. So, she brings him coffee, or drapes a blanket over him, before silently leaving. 

Finally, the week comes to a merciful end, and the doctors go home for some long awaited rest before their train ride to NYC on Saturday.

She's tucked into bed, scrolling through her phone, when she gets a text from Ethan. He’d missed Friday night dinner again.

Ethan

11:04 PM

Sorry about dinner. Running late, will probably stay the night. 

11:04 PM

Our train for NYC leaves tomorrow…?

She doesn’t receive a response, and finds herself a bit annoyed.

Because she identifies with that fierce dedication to their work. Every day. But, just a few months ago, he was the one urging her to slow down.

On top of that, she's been understanding for the past few weeks, shrugging it off or reassuring him when he missed dinners. Or fittings. Or rehearsals. All he had to do is show up to the actual thing. 

Frustrated and tired, she throws her phone on the bedside table.

But, after ten minutes, it rings. She sits up and sees the familiar contact picture from the attending’s ice skating event three years ago. Her arms are slung around his waist, the fuzzy ball on the top of her beanie falling into her eyes. His warm eyes look down at her.

And it's entirely too pleasant for the lingering irritation that she feels.

"Hi.”

"I’m sorry. This case is just–”

“Driving you crazy, I know.”

She hears him sigh on the other end. 

“I hate to ask, but –”

“Then don’t.” The annoyance in her voice is definitely not subtle, now.

"Please, Lea."

She huffs. “What?” 

"I don’t think I can make the train tomorrow night."

She sits up straight, flinging her legs out of the covers. “What?"

Another wince on his end, for sure.

“I can’t. We’re making progress, I think.”

“You think?” 

“I know. Look, I found some later trains–”

She tightly bunches the sheets in her fists. “Oh. So you’ve been thinking about this."

“–And there's one on Sunday, at noon. Please. I just need a little bit longer.” 

“Fine,” she says, through clenched teeth. “I’ll pick you up from the train station on Sunday night.”

“Wait– no. Hold on. You can’t go alone.” 

“And why the hell not?” 

“It won’t be safe. The area around South Station at night is rough.” 

“Are you kidding me?” 

"Lea, please. Just do this for me.”

She's close to yelling. “I’ve been doing things for you since Thanksgiving. And it's Sienna’s wedding. She needs me there. Sunday morning is her bachelorette brunch!” 

A few moments of silence pass. “I changed the tickets already.”

She almost drops the phone. Her voice is dangerously low. “Are you serious?” 

“I’m sorry, Lea. I promise, I’ll make it up –” 

But she hangs up, and throws it across the room.

And, in a way, she's grateful that she’d been awake for almost twenty four hours. Without the severity of her exhaustion, she's unsure if she'd be able to fall asleep.

––

She wakes to the sound of keys scraping against the front door.

Some resentment still lingers from last night, and she’s in no mood to get up. So, burying her head further into the pillow, she shuts her eyes. A few minutes later, the bed dips to one side.

“Lea?” Ethan whispers. But she doesn’t move. He sighs and turns over. 

She waits another hour, until she hears his soft snores, and sees the slow rise of his chest. On her toes, she hurriedly gets dressed and darts into the hallway. But, as soon as she rests her hand on the door handle, a husky voice rings out behind her.

"Good morning."

She looks over her shoulder with an icy glare, trying not to be distracted by his very naked chest, and always sexy morning voice. But, she relives last night and it’s enough for the anger to settle back in.

She says nothing, her grip tightening on the cold metal. 

“Lea, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

He steps forward to lay a hand on her upper arm, but she yanks it out of his grip.

“Lea–"

But she just throws the door open, and slams it behind her.

––

The drive to Danny’s apartment seems longer than usual. When Danny opens the door, his eyes widen.

"Uh, hey, Lea,” he stutters, stepping to the side to let her in. “Aren’t you cold?”

She looks down at her leggings and loose shirt, and sighs. “Is Sienna here?”

He nods, leading her to the couch in their living room, before retreating into the hallway and calling Sienna. She pads out, still in her pajamas.

A twinge of guilt stings her when she realizes that she just barged in the morning after Danny and Sienna's seventy hour work week. 

“Lea? Is everything okay?” 

She rises from the couch with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Sienna. I didn’t even register how early it still is.”

“No, no, that’s okay. Sit." She pulls her down to the sofa and looks at Danny. “Could you get some coffee started?” He nods and shuffles to the kitchen.

“What’s up?” Sienna’s concerned eyes flick back and forth. 

“Ethan–” she announces, but her resolve breaks. “is just… so stupid.” Angry tears well in her eyes.

“Oh, Lea.” Sienna scoots closer to gather her in her arms.

Danny chooses that exact moment to walk in, two mugs in hand, but Sienna waves him away. “What happened?”

She explains everything– Ethan being consumed by the case, flaking on her, and calling her last night. About how he rescheduled the train for the both of them.

“So…does that mean you’re going to miss the bachelorette brunch?”

She nods, through tears. “I’m so, so sorry Sienna. I was going to go on the train by myself, but he just rescheduled it for me!”

“It was unfair for him to do that,” she nods, empathetically. “But I promise, it's okay. It's not your fault.”

“But it's your only bachelorette brunch!” 

“Will you make it to the party on Monday?

She sniffs. “Yeah. We’ll get there Sunday evening.” 

“See? You’ll still make it to the important part!” she smiles, squeezing her hand. “It’s really okay. I love you, bachelorette brunch or not. Maybe you can make it up to me by spending an extra day in NYC? I’ve always wanted to try those rainbow bagels,” she finishes shyly.

“Deal.” She pulls Sienna into a tight hug.

Chapter Text

[lea]

By the time she gets back, it's well into the evening. She had spent the larger part of the day with Sienna.

After closing the door, she sees Ethan on the couch, head in hands. Not ready for any kind of confrontation, she dumps her bag down and walks back to their room, collapsing onto their bed without a word.

She wakes up early the next morning to re-examine her suitcase. Dress for the bachelorette party, dress for the wedding, dress for the reception, dress for sightseeing, heels, second pair of heels, more heels.

Ugh. Already frustrated, she zips the suitcase up and sits on it.

He walks out of the bathroom, tugging a sweater on. And, seeing her plopped down on her suitcase, he sighs. "Ready?”

She doesn’t respond. Just nods and stands up, pulling it behind her.

They pile their things into the cab's trunk, and scoot into the backseat. She angles her body away from him.

“Lea, please,” he mutters quietly, trying not to make the driver uncomfortable. “You can’t ignore me forever.”

“I can until I’m not furious with you anymore.” 

He lets out a long breath, and sits back against the seat. “Yeah. I guess you can.”

The rest of the ride passes in silence.

They make it to the station and board the train forty five minutes later. Ethan must have felt extremely guilty in that hasty moment of rescheduling, because their train car is super nice. Especially for a four hour trip. A private cabin, all green and gold, a large window spanning the entire outer wall.

“Seriously?”

He casts his eyes downwards. Seeing his dejection makes her feel bad, but she doesn’t let it show. 

After the train rumbles to a start, she plops down on one of the seats and stares out the window. He sits across her, looking down at the table for a few minutes. Finally, he shuffles through his bag and pulls out a red folder. “Diagnostics” scribbled on the top, in thick marker.

She looks up and glowers at him. I dare you. I dare you to open that.

He seems to understand the nonverbal message and tucks it away.

The next few hours of the trip pass, mostly, peacefully. The quiet rumbles of the track below them can be relaxing, and occasionally lull her to sleep. 

At some point, they’re passing through a coastal area. They pass a quintessential East Coast beach– dull blue waters, frothy white caps, tan sand sprinkled with rocks. They both start tracing the sealine out of the window.

Admittedly, anytime she sees the ocean, she thinks of him. Meeting him changed the way she looks at beaches. Because the sea is often considered to contain that most picturesque, most dazzling blue. But when she looked into his eyes for the first time, she realized that no other could compare to his own– keen, perceptive, compassionate. And the most perfect, incomparable turquoise. And when she gazes at the sea, she's reminded of how mediocre it is, in comparison to him.

Her head reflexively turns to him, and she finds him staring back at her. They share some sort of silent dialogue– apology, reprieve, need. 

And they speak at the same time.

“Lea–”

“Ethan–”

But before either of them can finish their sentence, a sickening screech followed by a resounding crack reverberates in the air. They barely have time to look alarmed, or look at each other, before they feel themselves disconnect from the rails and plunge downwards. Metal grinds viciously on metal but they aren’t slowing.

Her side of the car jerks forward as something smashes into it, flinging her over the table and into Ethan. Their bodies collide and drift towards the wall. She feels him instinctively tighten his arms around her, for only a moment, before they're ripped apart. Something forces itself through their window, sending glass swiping across the skin of her arm and shards nestling in her hair.

One last clang rings out around them, and she feels herself falling, falling. And then nothing.

[ethan]

He comes to, ears ringing. 

The smell of gas, blood, and salt burns his nostrils. Looking down at his body, he sees that the wool of his sweater is torn, and he feels a gust of salty air sting his abdomen. He reaches down to touch it, and his fingers pull away, stained red.

Well. That’s less than preferable.

Large bruises bloom under the ripped fabric, and a steady stream of blood drips from his left shoulder. He hastily rips the material of his jeans and wraps it around his shoulder, another around his abdomen. 

Dust rises around him, and his legs almost give out. Lea. Where is Lea?

Coughing, he tries to swipe away the dust, his arms extended out. “Lea!”

He hears a gasp a few feet away from him. 

“Lea! Can you hear me?” 

“Over here!”

He makes out the swish of a ponytail and stumbles towards it. The dust slowly settles– he’s moving away from the train car. Blinking a few times, the cloud starts to clear, and the ringing in his ears grows dull.

“Ethan!” 

The dust finally dissipates, and he sees her in a patch of weeds, in front of a fence. He carefully takes note of his surroundings.

He smells the ocean. It's faint, and the potent air of blood smothers it. But it's there.

The wood of the fence is splintered and blood is splattered across the broken pieces. Some train cars had crashed into the fence separating the rails from the beach.

And the water ripples on in the distance, mockingly. Calm and resilient, lapping the shore, as chaos reigns a few hundred yards away.

“Ethan! Help!”

He’s brought out of his examination and adrenaline threads through him, walking the short path to her voice.

To his surprise, she is mostly fine. And not preoccupied with her own injuries. 

She’s kneeling over a child, no more than fifteen years old, hands pressed on his side.

“He’s bleeding from the abdomen– a shard of metal is lodged just to the right of his pancreas.” She jerks her chin to a woman behind her. “That’s his mother, help her!” 

He nods and sprints over. Crouching down, he presses two fingers to her wrist and exhales in relief.

A faint, erratic pulse. But it's there. He searches her body for abrasions or bleeds. “Ma’am? Can you hear me?” 

“Y-yes.” The woman opens her eyes. “That’s my son.”

Another spark of relief. “Level of consciousness is verbal. Looks like a concussion, no major trauma.”

“I need help here. He’s bleeding out!” He hears the tearing of fabric.

“Ma’am, I will be right back. Stay calm." He props the woman upright against one of the tall weeds.

He runs to the boy and kneels on his other side. “Shit,” he mutters.

She had ripped the right half of his shirt off, and at least three inches of the metal shard juts out from his side. “I can’t stop the bleeding.”

Ethan pries off the rest of the shirt, binding the wound with the fabric, placing pressure on it. “I got this. Go check for any other survivors.”

She nods, still a bit dazed, wobbling as she rises to her feet.

Ethan steadies her with an arm. “Be safe.” 

She tries to smile back at him. “You better come back to me.” 

“I will.”

She huffs a breathless laugh. And disappears into the dust. 

[lea]

As she weaves through the briny smog, her senses are inundated by the screams for help, the imposing scent of copper, the debris and salt that she keeps sucking in.

She guides herself with what remains of the fence’s railing, ignoring the splinters embedding themselves into her palm. Seagulls squawk in the distance while the last of the metal adjusts and the screeches stop.

And the scene in front of her chills every ounce of blood in her body.

A curve of train cars hangs off the tracks, some completely lateral, others teetering on the edge. In the center of the collision, two cars bend into each other, wires and metal knotted together.

Limbs fall limp out of the windows, and the sheer amount of blood makes her own vision red. Tendrils of smoke dance above the collapsed cars and she sees the makings of a small blaze in her peripherals.

“Oh god,” she whispers.

Fire and gas means explosions. And that means that they don't have much time.

In the distance, she hears a young woman’s voice. “I’m a doctor! Please try to yell if you need medical assistance!”

Another doctor. She sighs in relief, stumbling towards it, when she sees a familiar head of bronze hair. And when she spins around, her heart catches in her throat.

“Esme?”

Her previous intern stands in front of her, blood running down the tattoo of her left arm, a few bruises on her cheek.

“Dr. Roberts?”

“What do we have?” 

Esme has managed to treat the worst of it– mildly injured, mostly dazed passengers now lean against the fence, or on the sand, yards away from the crash.

“Well done."

Esme nods. “We have two unconscious. I’m guessing head injury and concussion. We have five half-conscious, a few with serious lacerations." She gestures towards the group on the sand.

“A few dozen fully conscious, just a bit shaken. And, uh…” She gulps, looking at the broken window of a train car. “Four deceased.”

She nods, grief settling into her chest. “I’ve got the unconscious. Go treat any lacerations, burns, wounds. Check for fractures." She calmly looks at Esme. “Be fast.”

Esme nods shakily, and runs off.

She kneels down to the unconscious man and woman and holds two fingers to their necks. Pulses are there. She checks their pupils, noticing that the woman’s are dangerously dilated. Bruises and cuts cover the entirety of her facial features.

She places two fingers on the woman’s cheekbones, gently tilting her head back and forth. A clear liquid trickles from her ear. She swears under her breath.

Coughing and retching sounds to her left. The man stirs, and she immediately tilts him over to ensure he doesn't choke. His retching subsides, and there's no bleeding in his vomit, thank goodness.

She drags him to the fence and leans him against one of the stakes. “Sir? Can you hear me?”

“Yes. I c-can.” A bit of a stutter, but no slurring. Good.  

“Do you know this woman next to you?”

“Yes, I’m her plus one at a wedding.” 

Her dust-filled lungs shrink even further. Wedding.

She clears her throat. “Sir, do you know where this wedding is taking place?”

“Somewhere in Times Square.” 

Her heart drops. 

“W-what’s happening to her?”

She glances over her shoulder. The woman is convulsing. 

Lea scrambles to the woman’s side again. She stops shaking after a few moments, but her pulse fades when she touches her neck. 

The putrid smell of gas intensifies. "No!”

She laces her fingers together and starts chest compressions. Leaning down, she tilts her head back and blows air into her mouth.

Nothing. 

She starts the compressions again. “Come on!”

As she pulls away from the woman’s face, a few inches apart, she finally recognizes her.

It's Stephanie. Stephanie. One of the nurses. One of Sienna’s friends. One of her bridesmaids. 

Her hands are tempted to falter at the shattering realization, but adrenaline kicks in. “Come on, Stephanie. Come on. We have a wedding to go to." 

Gas fills her lungs, and she pulls up the hem of the shirt to cover her nose and mouth.

She feels herself crack one of Stephanie’s ribs. Her body shakes from soreness and exhaustion. She sinks down to blow air into her mouth again.

The petrol starts to seep through the fabric of her shirt, and she can’t seem to take full breaths. 

“Come on Stephanie!”

She isn’t sure how long her hands are on her chest before two lean arms tug her away.

“No!” She tries to scramble back to her, but already been pulled against the fence.

She sways, the oxygen deprivation sucking through her veins. 

"She’s gone.”

She looks up and sees eyes. Eyes more lovely than the ocean.

“Did– did the boy make it?” 

Ethan looks away, jaw clenched.

And a large sob tumbles from her mouth among the gasps for breaths. Her body falls limp in his hands.

Tears tumble down her face as grief burns her skin. For the passengers who didn’t know that the last minutes of their life would be on the coastline. For the boy. For his mother. For Stephanie’s date. For Stephanie. 

She weeps into his lap.

Before long, the world rumbles underneath her feet, and she sees a flash of flames. And then, all is dark. 

Chapter Text

[ethan]

His shoes burn an unrelenting path across the linoleum floor in the lobby of Bridgeport Hospital. The nurses implore him to sit down, insisting that he’ll snap the stitches on his abdomen– his shoulder wound is shallow enough to just merit a large, sterile band aid– but he yells at them, waving away their pleas.

It's well into the evening when she regains consciousness. 

Finally, when the nurse gives him entry, he all but runs into her room, and she tries to jump off the hospital bed to hug him.

The IV holds her back, but he sits on the edge of the bed, folding her into his arms. “You idiot. You absolute idiot.” His gruff voice mutters into her shoulder. 

“Good to see you, too. Where–”

“Bridgeport. We were just passing Pleasure Beach before we crashed.”

“Well, that name is just cruel in this context.” She tries to laugh. “What happened?”

“The coastal erosion of the beach extended too far past the waterline. It began to file away at the tracks and weakened the steel alloys in the rails, so the weight of the train eventually gave. We were on the latter end of the string of cars that derailed. The origin of the collision ultimately held the brunt of the weight. Where–"

He looks away.

“Where Stephanie was. Those two cars slammed into one another and killed most on impact. She was thrown from the broken window.”

“How did they not notice this before? Maintenance?”

He sighs. “The engineer explained that the erosion had been occurring for years. It grew weaker and weaker over time, as each train traveled it. It was just–”

“Bad luck,” she finishes.

Silence settles in the room, as she processes the information. 

“How’s the… mom? Of the boy?”

His words drip with regret. “Devastated. Mourning. Looking to sue the railroad company for all its worth.”

Her shoulders sink in defeat. But she takes a deep breath and manages a smile. “Hell yeah, mama bear.”

“We’re going to get the hospital’s pro-bono lawyers on the case. And support her in any way we can.”

She appreciatively squeezes his hand. “Esme?”

“Injured, but alive.”

She closes her eyes, a dizzying sense of relief flooding her body.

“Turns out she was on a late train for the wedding, too.”

More silence. 

“You’re hunching over. You never slouch. Show me.” 

He sighs, adjusting his hospital gown to expose his upper body. Her eyes grow somber, and wet, as she traces her fingers over the stitches on his abdomen, over the veins in his arms, over the bandage.

He grasps her hand at his shoulder, and holds it. “I’m fine.”

Tears still tumble down her cheeks, and he holds her against his chest. Their chests beat violently against one another.

She sniffs into his shoulder, and he draws back, wiping one side of her face. “I told you to come back to me. I meant come back unharmed.” 

“We couldn’t have done anything else. Look down.” 

His eyes trail down her chest, and she follows, confused. “Oh.”

A sprawling line of stitches starts at the top of her breastbone and curves outwards to her side. 

“A metal shaving in your chest embedded itself deeper with every chest compression. And it's a miracle that you didn't experience carbon monoxide poisoning, considering how much gasoline you inhaled.”

“Guess we’re having lots of bad luck, today.”

But he doesn’t say anything. He releases her from his grip and walks to the window. “It–the metal almost punctured your heart.”

“How did I not–?”

“The doctor said your adrenal gland is remarkable. Unlike any he’s ever seen. It's as if your fight or flight response just defaults to fight.” 

She lets out a small laugh. But he stills, back towards her.

“Ethan?” 

“You could’ve died!” He turns around and snaps. “And… part of it was my doing. If we had just left on Saturday–”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” she cuts him off.

“I could’ve lost you. Why did you do that?” He places both hands on her cheeks and shakes her head lightly. 

“I’m here with you. I love you.”

“I was terrified. Sometimes, I forget. How much I would lose if I didn’t have you."

“The great Ethan Ramsey, now a big ol’ sap. Down bad.”

His laugh sounds more like a growl, and tears start gathering in his eyes. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m upset with you.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” 

[lea]

Somehow, by the grace of God– and a bit of manipulation– she convinces the doctors to discharge her and Ethan on Monday night.

It's harder convincing him, who is unaware that that she essentially threatens the doctor with the claim that her boyfriend is the Chief at Edenbrook, and would speak poorly of this hospital if they're mistreated. And might go to the media.

The doctor pales, and signs the discharge paper within minutes. 

Well, it was half true. He’s the chief... or director. Of something. 

“How could they discharge you?” He yells, completely neglecting his own half-healed stitches on his abdomen. He grips the steering wheel of their rental car with white knuckles.

She shrugs. “It’s a small hospital. Probably budget cuts, or something.”

He narrows his eyes. “Did you have something to do with this?” 

She attempts innocence with big eyes. He sees through it.

“If you deliberately forged your discharge papers after you were in a near fatal train crash, with metal lodged in your chest, just to attend a wedding… I’m leaving you on the side of this freeway.” 

“Who do you think I am, Ethan? Do you think I’d risk my job like that? With forgery?”

His face is still skeptical for a moment, before he relaxes. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“I blackmailed them. Very different.”

“Lea,” he mutters darkly. He stops the car on the shoulder. “You did what?"

“You know,” she twiddles her fingers in her lap. “Just told him that my boyfriend, who happens to be the Chief of the esteemed Edenbrook Hospital, would be very upset if his lovely girlfriend was mistreated or denied by staff.” She pauses. “Or maybe go to CNN.” 

He glares at her, before releasing a disbelieving sigh.

“I would be angry at you for being such an idiot, but I’m supposing that you love Sienna too much to sit in a hospital an hour away while she gets married. And I know better to try to get in the way when you put your mind to something.”

“Love you.” She beams, leaning over to kiss him, and he sighs against her lips.

“Yes, yes.” He shifts the car into drive. “Let’s go get Sienna married.”

[lea]

When they’re about thirty minutes from the city, she calls Sienna. She picks up on the first ring, a hot pink tiara on her head.

The top of a purple sash is strapped across her the sequins of her dress. Loud music, laughter, and strobe lights pulse in the background.

Her heart sinks. Sienna’s bachelorette party. And she isn’t there.

“Lea!” Sienna squeals. “What’s up? We miss you so much! God, how are you? Are you okay? Ethan told me your train was delayed after the one in front of you crashed?” 

She smiles at Sienna’s tipsiness and glances at Ethan gratefully. So, he just stretched the truth a bit. Or, a lot.

But she would be devastated if she ruined Sienna’s bachelorette party. Maybe it's for the best.

“I miss you too, Sienna. So much. I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“Oh, stop it. I’d rather you be safe.” She tries to wave it away, but she drops her phone with a giggle.

The screen wiggles as she reorients it. “Steph didn’t make it, either,” Sienna pouts. “I wonder where she is– maybe her travel plans got delayed too. I miss her! I hope she comes to the wedding.”

Steph didn’t make it. 

Ethan tenses next to her, and she lowers the phone to her lap, so Sienna can’t see her reaction. He slides a hand onto her thigh and squeezes. She places her hand over his.

“Lea?" 

“Sorry!" She brings the phone back up. “I’ll be in your hotel room first thing tomorrow so we can get ready. Okay?” 

Sienna beams. “Aye aye, Captain! Remind Dr. Pita to meet Danny in his room, too!"

“I will. Love you. So much.”

“I love you! Bye!” The face of the happy girl disappears from her phone screen. 

Ethan raises an eyebrow. “Dr. Pita?”

She looks down, trying to hide her smile. “The interns might have made a nickname for you before we met you.” 

His eyes narrow. “How many of the interns?”

She pauses. “All of the interns.”

He groans, squeezing her thigh. “Why am I a pita? There’s not even a Mediterranean restaurant near the hospital.”

“It’s not the pita you’re thinking of.”

He frowns. “What the hell is a 'pita', then?”

She ducks her head, unable to suppress her amusement any longer. “Pain in the ass.”

He pauses. “We’re going to have a discussion about this later.”

She muffles her laughter, turning to the window. “Such a pita,” she mutters.

“I heard that.” He squeezes her leg hard, and she squeals. But she looks over and he’s shaking his head, a small smile on his face. 

They sit in silence until the gleaming, neon lights of the city reflect on their faces.

He asks the unavoidable question. “When will you tell her?” 

“In the morning.”

He nods. “In the morning.”

She abruptly starts crying and does so until they get to their hotel. He helps her in the shower, washing her hair, putting lotion on her without disrupting her stitches. And he doesn’t care when some of his own drift onto the bathroom floor.

They settle down in the sheets, and he slowly traces the path of stitches on her chest.

“I love you,” she blurts out. 

“I love you, more.”

“That’s simply incorrect.” 

“It is not.” 

She pulls his hand over her chest. “My heart is literally bursting at the seams for you.”

“That was terrible. And morbid. Never say it again.”

“Only if you admit that I love you more.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. You love me more.”

She nods victoriously and drops onto his chest, a pleasant hum leaving her mouth.

“I was crossing my fingers.”

She dissolves into laughter and pokes his cheek. Which lends itself to some tickling– kind of, as their bodies are still raw– but they fall asleep smiling.

[lea]

In the morning, her head is under the sheets. 

“What–”

She peeks out, chin on his stomach. A mischievous smile dawns on her face as she kisses around his stitches, before sinking back under.

“Lea,” Ethan warns, carefully pulling her up by her shoulders.

She shifts out of his grip, dropping her mouth to his collarbone.

“We have to meet Sienna and Danny.”

Panting breathlessly against his skin, she bites lethargic, wispy patches across his jaw. “Sienna texted me that she didn’t need to see me until eight.” 

She looks at the digital clock next to their bed. 7:02. 

“Not much time,” he mutters between gasps. 

“That’s never been a problem for us.” Her teeth float over his hips, before her mouth falls on his hard length, again.

His hand instinctively urges her down, her hair soft in his fingers. It doesn’t take more than a few more tenuous sucks of her mouth, a few more minutes of her winding around him, before her name rips across his tongue. 

His voice is hoarse as he holds her in awe. “It’s completely unwarranted how sexy you are.”

She emerges from the sheets, an incredulous look on her face. “Have you seen yourself?”

His laughter is dark, his eyes blown with desire as he arranges her on the bed with a sheer, reverential touch.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not made of glass." 

“No, you're not. You were in a traumatic train crash a day and a half ago with life-threatening injuries."

“Okay. Fair.” 

He huffs a laugh before his lips fall on hers. Her tongue drags against his upper lip, a small whimper following it, as he draws her own lip between his teeth. And with that, their mouths unravel, hot tongues curling in impatience- their fights, the crash, and everything in between, thrashing against one another in full-bodied refrain.

He ducks his head, mouth against her throat, as his teeth sweep across her skin like silk. "Don't worry." The dizzying hollow of his voice against her is relaxing, and a shudder breezes through her body. "No one will see." 

His mouth pulls a path down her chest, reverential as it passes the scarred skin. Her hips desperately rise as his tongue reaches her nipple, and her fingers grasp at the sheets.

She looks at the clock. 7:14.

“Ethan," she gasps. "If you stop right now, I will–”

She yelps as his mouth descends on her breast. Writhing, she pushes his head lower. His laugh is dark, fierce.

“I’m getting there.”

“Get there faster."

His teeth graze her thigh as her underwear drapes down her knees. Her legs hover in restlessness as he bites the thin skin of her calf.

"Ethan."

Finally, she hears his incredulous laugh when his hand disappears into the wetness between her thighs. "Is this what happens when we don’t have sex for a few days?” 

Her body squirms against her own will. “Basically.”

His head snaps up, his pupils burned black. “Did you take touch yourself when I wasn't home?” 

“Of course not. It's nowhere near as good."

She feels his smile against her thigh, before his mouth falls. And her eyes flutter close.

As his mouth hums against her clit, as his tongue swirls around her folds, the pain from the past few days eases into irrelevance. It vanishes. The stitches string back together, the muted ache in her chest starts to flower. All because of him.

She looks at the clock. 7:22. 

“Time to speed up.” And his fingers abruptly thrust inside of her, and a shriek spills from her mouth. 

“I have you.” His fingers hook up.“That’s it,” he murmurs against her.

For a final time, he sucks her clit into his mouth, and a scream stings the air. She shakes against him, as his fingers ride her through, the other hand brushing the strands of hair out of her eyes.

She places her hands on his cheeks and tries to lift him to her, but he doesn't move. Instead, he grasps her arms and settles them back into his hair.

“Ethan?"

His tongue quickly takes place of his fingers and she cries out, her lower back thrashing off the bed. 

Her eyes flick to the clock. 7:30.

“One more,” he murmurs against her thigh. Above him, her world is hazy, edges of her vision in mist, still saturated with pleasure.

“I- I can’t." Her legs squeeze together, trying to slow the throbbing. 

“For me." All at once, his lithe fingers push back inside of her.

It only takes a few seconds until the walls can barely contain her fierce screams and muted whimpers. For the third, fourth, fifth time that morning, his name drifts across her lips. And then, she feels rivulets of wetness dripping down her thighs. She scrambles up. 

“You just–” 

“Yeah."

“You’ve never–”

She's panting. “Yeah."

“Interesting.”

But her tongue and her throat can't compose a witty comeback, her body still tingling and aching with want, with longing. "I need you."

“I know. But we’ll be late. We can’t.”

But impulse overcomes her, and she throws him onto his back. She slams down on his length. “Holy–”

Her eyes hardly stay open, and a vicious shiver runs down her back. But she moves recklessly, a dismissal of the stitches and cuts. 

“Lea, slow down–"

But she ignores him, and continues to bounce furiously on him, her head thrown back in a blooming catharsis. She feels herself coming again and it’s bliss, euphoria, it's him, him, him. 

She hears her name die on his lips and feels him pulse and finish inside of her.

She collapses on him, their huffing and panting the only sounds in the small hotel room. 

"God," he mutters.

She looks at him and erupts into bright laughter. He just shakes his head, running a hand over his face with a shaky laugh.

“Are you trying to kill me?

"Absolutely not." She places a hand on his chest. “If you died, I’d never get to experience that again.” 

Chapter Text

[lea]

Somehow, they shower, get dressed, and haul ass down a few floors by 7:59.

Before he runs down the hall to Danny’s room, he grabs her face and kisses her fiercely, over and over again. “I love you.” 

And, with a giddy, glowing smile, she knocks on Sienna’s door.

It flings open, and she pauses as she takes Sienna in.

She looks a bit feverish, crimson on her cheeks, her usually tidy braid now tangled in a half ponytail. And, as she steps inside, she realizes that this was, in fact, not wedding jitters– her lips are swollen red, and her shirt is definitely on backwards.

With one hand on her mouth, she tries to contain a laugh. “Sienna…” But she fails, and laughter slips through her fingers. "Pregaming for the wedding night?” 

Sienna’s blush, somehow, blossoms further. “Shh!” she whispers, closing the door behind her. 

“Sienna. Who do you think will hear, now? Plus, they're probably awake by now, if I’m right about your volume.” 

“Lea!”

“Is that why you wanted me here at eight instead of seven?”

Sienna’s eye peeks out from her fingers. “Maybe.”

She squeals and pulls Sienna to the end of the bed. “Tell me everything!” 

“Well,” Sienna says shyly, tucking a frizzy strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not like we haven’t… you know… before, but Danny showed up at 6 am, and started babbling this whole speech, and said that not being able to see me for the rest of the day would be too hard for him, so…”

“Oh my god. That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Sienna giggles. “And, I guess, the nerves, combined with the lingering effects of the alcohol last night– it might’ve been a little… rougher than usual.”

She nearly chokes. Sienna and Danny were probably the last couple she’d think would be rough in bed. “Sienna!” 

“I can’t wait to marry him.”

She smiles, reaching over to squeeze her hand. A sharp pain pricks in her chest. And it isn’t her stitches. It's the fact that she'll have to explain to Sienna that one of her bridesmaids won't, and didn’t make it.

She swallows the lump in her throat and shakes the pain away. “Come on, my blushing bride. Let’s fix this sex hair.” 

[ethan]

He knocks on Danny’s door with his suit folded over his arm, still a bit dazed from the events of this morning.

Danny opens the door, with the most chipper expression that he’d seen in a while.

If he wasn’t so satisfied by everything that led up to this minute, his lively and boyish demeanor would irritate him. 

“Ethan! Thanks for coming.” 

“Good to see you, Danny.” He steps into the hotel room and doesn’t make it very far.

“What–?" He looks around at the odd lineup of men around him.

Elijah’s in front of the TV, Bryce is lounging on the desk chair, and Rafael lays on the bed, hands behind his head. But… it gets strange after that. Zaid is standing awkwardly next to the window, Naveen is sitting politely on the other desk chair, and Carrick lounges on the desk with a magazine.

“Um, yeah,” Danny wrings his hands. “A few of the nurses couldn’t make it– they were begged to stay at the hospital, so a few of the guys stepped in.” 

“Ramsey!” Carrick strides across the room and claps him on the back.

His jaw twitches. “Tobias.”

“Ethan,” Naveen greets him, the usual, modest smile on his face. “Welcome. Are you well? We heard about the train derailment.”

He falters a bit, but straightens. “Good to see you, Naveen. Yes. Grateful to be safe, and to be here.”

“And Lea?” He asks, his polite smile tipping upwards.

“Well–” he stutters. After Halloween and Thanksgiving, he isn’t sure why he even tries to hide it anymore. He sighs. “She’s well.”

Naveen nods with a kind expression. “Good to hear. We were just discussing the nature of human consciousness and human potential. Join us.”

He inwardly groans and forces a smile, before sitting on the edge of the bed. It's going to be a long day.

[lea]

She drops the last curl of Sienna’s hair from the iron before tilting her face to the mirror. Her bronze hair now falls in shiny, loose rings, the lighter parts of her hair now in wisps next to her ears.

As they all get ready, Sienna and the rest of the bridesmaids ask about Stephanie, and she tries her best to shrug it off, saying that she might show up later.

She pretends to focus intensely on Sienna’s hair to dodge the questions. Reaching over Sienna’s shoulder, she pulls out the baby’s breath flower wreath, a thin thing with white flowers twisted into the vine, and weaves it into a braid and along the curls that spill over her shoulders. After she finishes, she steps back, with a hand over her mouth.

Aurora, Jackie, and the rest of the bridesmaids stop adjusting their gowns to look over. They all gasp.

“God, Sienna. Beautiful isn’t strong enough a word right now.” 

Aurora walks to Sienna’s side. “You look lovely.”

“Pretty hot,” Jackie adds, and Sienna giggles. 

Sienna beams and twirls one of the loose strands around her finger. “You did it exactly how I wanted. Thank you, Lea!” She turns around to give her a hug, but she bats her hand away with a stern look. 

“You will not disrupt my three hour masterpiece. That was just as tiring as a neuroendoscopy.”

Aurora and Jackie laugh, and start to follow her instructions on how to do their hair. 

She picks up her own dress and walks to the bathroom. Thank god that the fabric would cover her cuts and bruises.

She's pulling one of the sleeves up when Sienna walks in.

“Hey, Lea, Jackie needs help with the crown plait–” She freezes when she sees the scar running from her chest to her side, a few stitches clinging on.

She hurries to slip the sleeve on, but it gets caught on one of the stitches, and she yelps.

“Lea!” Sienna rushes over, and her fingers ghost the scar over her chest. “W-what happened?” 

“I–” she stutters, but Sienna isn’t stupid. And it doesn’t take more than a few seconds for understanding to dawn on her face. 

“You– your train wasn’t delayed.”

She grips the edge of the sink and looks down at the marble counter, not brave enough to meet Sienna’s eyes.

“It was your train, the crash.”

She swallows the sobs erupting in her throat and blinks rapidly, so her mascara doesn’t run from the tears. Her nod is barely perceptible. 

“But, Ethan said–”

She looks up, and finally catches Sienna’s expression, seeing the thoughts and questions rapidly shifting in her mind. And then, they darken.

Sienna’s eyes have always had a light to them. But right now, they are anything but. 

“Stephanie was on the train,” she said flatly. There’s no question in her voice.

She spins to face her, reaching down to hold Sienna’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to worry you, make you sad, and ruin your bachelorette party, but then, this morning, you were so happy, and I didn’t know what to do. Or when to say anything.” 

Sienna just stares at her, before sliding her hands out of her grip. “You lied. About Stephanie. Yesterday and today.”

“I swear, I didn’t kno–”

Sienna raises a hand to stop her and nods, her expression unreadable. “I need time.” 

“What? No, please, Sienna, the wedding is in tw–” 

“I need time.”

She turns on her heel and grabs her clutch from the vanity before walking through the door.

Lea stands frozen in the middle of the room, the sleeve of her dress still hanging at her side. The girls look confused and grow concerned as they watch Sienna stroll out, before their attention turns to her. 

“Holy shit! What the hell happened?” Jackie moves to her side and shifts her gently, to see the wound.

Almost catatonic, she moves to sit on the bed, and the girls sit around her. Jackie and Aurora sit by her side, a hand on her shoulder, the other rubbing the back of her hand.

She hates herself for being the one who needs comforting right now, but her mind feels like it's short-circuiting. So, she tells them everything. About Ethan’s rescheduling, the train crash, the hospital, and Stephanie.

She hears two of the nurses– Jane and Delia– choke back sobs.

“I swear. I swear I did everything I could,” she pleads, hot tears now running down her face.

“It’s okay, Lea. You could’ve died. God, it's okay," Jackie murmurs, rubbing her back.

“Sienna found out, didn’t she?” Jane asks quietly.

She nods. “I had no idea when to tell her. Or what to tell her. I just,” she pauses, and looks at the vanity. “I already missed the bachelorette party, and she’s been waiting for this day for months, and… I couldn’t ruin it.”

Delia clears her throat. “It was wrong of you to keep it from her as long as you did. But, I also have no idea what I would’ve done in your situation. And the crash must’ve been traumatic.” She pats her knee with soft eyes. 

“Plus– a chunk of metal was stuck in your chest, literally, two days ago. And somehow,” Aurora shakes her head. “Somehow, you’re here. If anyone didn’t know how stubborn you are, after this, they’ll definitely know.”

Jackie straightens. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think Sienna remembers much of anything from her bachelorette party. After they brought out the inflatable penises, she shrieked and bolted out of the bar.”

She smiles sadly. “I wish I was there.” 

“We know."  

She looks to Delia and Jane. “I– I know you were close to her. I hope you know I will do anything and everything to honor her life, and to support you both.”

They look at her sadly, but appreciatively. The five of them manage a group hug, careful not to rip out any hair extensions or to tear out fake eyelashes.

“Now, Jackie,” she pulls away and swipes away a tear. “Let me do your hair. It looks terrible.” 

They giggle, and she fixes their hair and makeup, praying that Sienna will come back.

[ethan]

The men alternate standing in front of the mirror, adjusting their bowties and dress shirts.   

“Why do we have to wear purple?” Carrick complains.

“Jeez, Lea was right,” Danny mutters. “You really are an ass.”

Carrick glares at him, and the men around the room laugh loudly.

While the rest of the men tease Carrick further, he moves to the mirror. As his fingers tuck into the purple silk, he hears sobs run past their half-open door. It's definitely tiny feet padding over the hotel carpet, because it hardly makes a sound. 

He looks back to the rest of the groomsmen, who are wrapped up in some philosophical debate. So, he slips through the door and follows the retreating sobs.

He strides down the hallway and turns a few corners until he sees her. The petite girl is crumpled over herself, on a bench near to a window and the elevators.

He approaches carefully, and sits on the other end. Noticing his presence, she looks up.

She isn’t too out of place, but he had never seen such sadness in Sienna’s eyes.

“Hi, Ethan.”

“Hi, Sienna. I’m assuming Lea told you the truth?”

She nods.

“I’d like to apologize. I did lie without telling her, when she was unconscious. And it was my fault that our train was delayed in the first place.”

“I know,” she says quietly. She’s stopped crying. 

“You do?” 

She sniffs. “Yeah. She told me. Well, more like yelled. And then cried."

“That sounds like her. If you’re angry with anyone, please be so with me. This is entirely my fault.”

“It’s not. And I’m not angry. Not at you, not at her. God, I’m just so thankful you’re both alive. I don’t know what I would’ve done in your place. I'm just sad. I love Stephanie. Loved.” She chokes on the last word.

“I'm so sorry for your loss."

And they descend into silence.

"She threatened our doctors so that she could be discharged and help you get ready in the morning.” 

Sienna smiles. “Of course she did.”

“Sometimes, I think she loves you more than me." 

“She probably does," she teases with a blush.

He laughs quietly and stands up, extending a hand. "Come on. Danny will be extremely upset with me if I drive away his future wife.”

She takes it, smiling gratefully. He leads her back to her room, and sees Lea pacing back and forth in front of the door, phone to her ear.

When she sees them, she drops her phone. Sienna crosses the last few feet and hugs her. “It’s okay. I mean, it's not. But I’m not mad at you. I’m so thankful you’re here with me.”

She falls into her arms, whispering a million apologies. She looks over her shoulder to him, and mouths ‘I love you.’

[lea]

After an hour, the air in the room returns to its former, dizzy with happiness buzz. When they re-enter the room, hand in hand, the girls let out a sigh of relief.

They all hug Sienna and offer their apologies. Delia and Jane hold her for a bit longer, as the three mourn the loss of their friend.

As she does Jackie’s hair, she faintly hears Jane's voice.

“Stephanie would want you to be happy."

And she relaxes when she sees Sienna smile.

But now, she's a tornado around the hotel room, ensuring that no dress has wrinkles, no rhinestones are lost, no flowers are falling out of braids, and no bouquets are withering.

Before they know it, hotel staff are escorting the girls and the groomsmen down to the garden. Danny had been taken to the altar, and Sienna clutches her hand for dear life as they exit the elevator.

They lead them to the large garden gates, gold vines wrapping around the oakwood. The music hums to life, and she has to hold Sienna up with both arms to prevent her from collapsing. 

The procession begins, as bridesmaids and groomsmen pair up and disappear through the gates. Soon, only her and Ethan are left. He defaulted into Danny’s best man after his original one was pulled back to Edenbrook.

Sienna is reluctant to let go of her hand.

“It's time. You’ve been waiting for this.”

“What–what if he doesn’t think I look nice?”

“Then he’s out of his mind. But, judging by this morning, I don’t think that’s the case.” She winks, and Sienna giggles shyly. “And I’m right here. I will be right next to you. See you soon.” 

A ridiculously large smile spreads on Sienna’s face. “See you soon.”

And with that, her and Ethan walk through the gates. She’s awed for a moment, as this is really the first time she’s seen ceremony designs come to be. 

The aisle is a spattering of lilac petals on top of smooth stone and patches of wood paneling. Lamps with golden fairy lights mark each aisle of wicker chairs, and glimmering bubble lights hang loosely between the trees. At the end of the aisle is a towering Venetian arch, giant bundles of wisteria dangling off its latticing. 

He's pleasantly surprised, too.

“This is almost as beautiful as you,” he murmurs in her ear, as they make it to the archway. “You take my breath away. I didn’t have time to say it earlier."

His voice leaves her a bit dazed after they part. She looks over at Danny, who looks so enraptured, that he might combust.

And then, Sienna’s aisle music swells, the tinkling, heavenly chords filling the space. Her and Danny's song. 

When she passes through the gates, audible gasps arise throughout the crowd. And it's warranted. 

Sienna’s dress is off-white and tulle, a thin layer of fairy lace billowing on the skirt. Tan and copper gypsum with smaller, pale pink carnations nestle in the fabric. Sienna’s favorite part, though, was the gauzy cathedral train that hangs off the back of her bodice’s straps. 

If she didn’t notice the rise and fall of Danny’s chest under his button down, the look on his face would make her think that he’s either frozen in time, or having an absence seizure. His mouth is dropped open, his eyes swimming with the truest kind of love, disbelief, pure joy.

As she planned, the attention brings a fervid flush to Sienna’s face and gold shimmers on her cheekbones. Even she feels like she’ll pass out at the sight of Sienna’s radiance.

The ceremony passes in a haze, as she is overwhelmed by the amount of love, good cheer, and joyousness that swirls in the garden. With each, “I promise” and “I love you” and “I do”, she feels herself getting wildly emotional. Though she’s staring at her back, she knows exactly the expression on Sienna’s face– twinkling eyes, a smile that challenges the sweetest rays of the sun.

And she finds herself doubly emotional as her eyes shift to Ethan, behind Danny’s shoulder. And, as she blinks, she realizes a multitude of things:

Not a single person in this world rivals what he means to her; the thought of losing him stings more than the shard of metal inside of her chest; and she wants this with him, all of it, now and then, and everything in between.

Chapter Text

[ethan]

He tries to focus on the conversation he’s having with Ines, but his eyes keep drifting across the rooftop bar to a pale set of shoulders, some silver strings of a new dress slashed across her back.

And he just can’t look away as her head tips back in laughter, champagne flute in hand. 

“Ethan?” Ines presses, pulling his attention back to her.

“Yes?” 

“What do you think of the study?” 

“Well–” he trails off, and she follows his eyes. A smile spreads on her face.

“I’m going to go ask Zaid for his opinion.” She tips her glass and strolls away.

He places his own glass on the cocktail table and weaves between people across the rooftop until he reaches her.

Bryce smirks when he notices him approaching, and kisses the back of her hand before departing to mingle. She spins around and a bright smile spreads on her face.

“Hey, you.” 

Before she can turn away, he grabs her chin and pulls her into a deep kiss, holding the back of her neck.

She sways a bit. “What was that?”

“You look unbearably sexy.”

“Oh?” Her free hand trails down his chest. “Thank you, Doctor Ramsey.”

He tenses under her touch. “Will Sienna be upset with me if I throw you over my shoulder and take you until sunrise?” he murmurs in her ear, and she shivers.

“Probably.” She smiles up at him, and he sighs.

“You did an amazing job with wedding planning. Every time I think I've seen you excel at one thing, you outdo yourself with another.” 

“Aw.” She pokes his chest. “See? Not all hardass. Blue margarita.” 

Sienna flounces up to them. “It’s time for speeches!” 

Sienna pulls her away and the sequins of their dresses flash in the dark. 

A few minutes later, the tinkling against a champagne glass gathers everyone’s attention. The laughter and chatter slowly dies down.

Lea perches elegantly on the edge of the sleek countertop of the circular bar. She’s pushed aside the bar stools to construct a makeshift stage. 

“Attention, everyone! Thank you for coming to Sienna and Danny’s wedding reception.”

Cheers erupt into the warm night. 

“Hell yeah, Dienna!” Elijah howls. 

“What the hell is Dienna?” Jackie asks. 

“It’s their ship name, obviously.”

Laughter fills the air, but a smiling Lea hushes them all, once again.

“If the rest of my colleagues are done being disruptive, we can begin with the speeches. Obviously, Sienna didn’t choose the most… accessible of venues for speeches–” 

“It’s sparkly. And pretty! And way better than some stuffy ballroom or banquet hall!” 

And sparkly, it is. In fact, the amount of lighting casts a golden glow over the entire rooftop, with strings of flickering lights hanging from the round parapet of the bar.

The shelves of alcohol and glasses behind the counter are stained in luminescence, each table has some sort of candle centerpiece, each chair is lit up by a gold LED light in the flooring; and on top of it all, the heating lamps glow a rich yellow-orange.

Honestly, it kind of hurt his eyes just looking at it all. 

“Since she insisted on this venue, we’ll have the speeches over here. Please take your seats!” 

The guests take their drinks and plates of appetizers to the tables and couches around them, angling themselves towards her. Some children sit in a circle around her. The whole thing is pretty endearing. 

“We’ll start with Jane and Delia!”

The guests clap and cheer as she hands them the mic, and they take the stage.

They stumble a bit. Too much champagne for their tiny bodies, clearly. They gush about how perfect Sienna and Danny are for each other, how they set them up. Then they start crying, blubbering about how much Sienna means to them. 

He’s all for young love, but after the drama of today, the last thing he needs to see is more crying women. The only thing keeping him awake is the woman on the bar, a few feet away from the two nurses.

She looks touched by their speech, but Ethan can sense a bit of restlessness in her expression too. 

Somewhere during the part where the girls start to read a poem they’d written for Sienna, she catches his gaze, and smiles slyly. She shifts her legs imperceptibly open before raising one and crossing it over her other.

It’s torture. A crime, really, for those smooth, sexy legs to be on display for all. He shifts in his seat so the group of children below don’t see the growing tightness in his suit pants. 

It seems like the speeches never end and get progressively more painful. Elijah raps his, Bryce describes how he gave Danny tricks on how to “pick up” Sienna. Aurora spoke about how she thought Sienna was a pipsqueak, but is okay now. Jackie mildly threatens Danny.

Zaid mutters something about the fleeting aspect of the sanctity of marriage. Naveen displays a thirty minute meditation on what human affection is, how romance functions in our society, and how love can be a theoretical framework.

They all share exasperated looks the entire time, until she finally finds a moment to cut him off. 

“Thank you, Naveen!” Her smile is pained. “That just leaves me. I’ll keep it short and sweet, so we can get to the dancing.”

She turns to Sienna, mic in hand.

“Sienna, the amount of times you have come through for me in the time we’ve known each other… no one has ever done that for me before. You hold me when I cry, make me laugh when I’m sad, and get me drunk when I’m angry.”

The crowd laughs. 

“But, more than anything, you just get me. You’ve been here since the very first day of our intern year. You’re my best friend, my other half, my soul sister. I love you. And while I’m hesitant to share you, I wouldn’t choose a better person to share with.”

She raises her champagne flute. “To Danny and Sienna.”

“To Danny and Sienna!” The guests chant.  

"Let’s dance!”

Cheers and claps echo into the night, as an upbeat song fills the air. 

“Come here often?”

Ethan looks down, seeing that she’s joined him, two drinks in hand.

“Out of all of Bryce's lines, that's the one you selected?”

“Come sit with me.” She tugs him towards one of the couches in the corner and collapses on it. He settles down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“Being the maid-of-honor at a twenty something’s wedding is worse than any deep brain stimulation,” she mumbles, pressing her nose into his chest. He laughs. 

“You’re amazing. At everything. How is that possible?”

“I have a good support system.” She looks up at him, a bundle of emotions deep in her eyes. 

They stay like that while they watch everyone dance, sharing slow kisses and nauseating pick up lines. 

[lea]

It isn’t until the final, slower melody plays that she gets up. “Come on,” she holds a hand out. “It’s our song.”

“We don’t have a song.”

“Yeah, well, this can be ours. Come on.” She pulls him to the dance floor and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

He tenses. She slides her hands down his chest. “Is the esteemed Doctor bad at dancing?” 

“I was a bit too busy being a prodigy and graduating high school three years early. Forgive me for not taking dance lessons.” 

"I love you.” 

“And I, you. More, in fact.”

She’s too tired to pick up their usual bickering, and just smiles into his chest.

They sway to the sounds of a soft, acoustic guitar, and he rests his chin on the top of her head. 

“You know, out of every heinous, sparkling thing on this rooftop, you shine the brightest.” 

She pulls back, amused. “That was the sappiest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

“No. I meant it.” His thumb strokes her cheek. “You have a natural brilliance. It makes everyone around you feel your warmth.”

Her eyes prick with tears. “If I wasn’t such a romantic, I would’ve thrown up at everything you just said.”

“It’s a perfect balance, too,” he mutters. “To me. And my brooding.” 

She looks up at him. “You are perfect for me. You understand that, right?” 

He smiles softly. “I do. It took me a while, but I do."

A great deal of affection suddenly grows in her chest.

"I understand that when we fight and ignore each other, and when we cry together because we felt so guilty after. When we make love and all we care about is making the other person feel good. I understand that every time I look at you, and your smile is brighter than any star in our sky.” 

She laughs. “Well, don't stare for too long. My UV rays might destroy your DNA and RNA. And I want our children to have your genes, not mine.”

The song ends just then, but he doesn’t move. “Ethan?”

But he’s frozen in his spot.

“I’m sorry if that was too weird, I–“

“What did you say about UVs?” 

She blinks. “Well, you know this, obviously. Ultraviolet rays can disrupt DNA and RNA chains by creating pyrimidine dimers or breaks in the sequence.” 

“Do you recall the journal you were talking about the night after our argument? With the roses and the tea?” he asks.

“Yeah. The circular RNAs. How they can redirect brain functions in certain neurological disorders. Why are you asking now?"

His arms are still on her waist, even though guests are waltzing off the dance floor and trickling out. 

“Our patient…” He stares at her face, but his eyes are flickering rapidly, like his brain is working overtime.

He steps back, running a hand through his hair. “Lea, Teresa O'Malley works at a tanning salon.”

It barely takes her a few seconds before she understands. “Holy shit.”

They stare at each other in silence, unmoving.

After ten seconds, they move frantically. He fumbles with his phone, trying to call Zaid or Naveen. She desperately looks for Sienna, and finds her in the corner, wishing a goodnight to one of the last guests. 

“Sienna!” she yells, almost tripping over a discarded glass on the floor.

She turns around, confused, and a bit concerned. “Lea? Is everything okay?”

“You have to hear this!”

And she explains. The stroke patient, the study, the UV lights, the tanning salon. Her brown pupils grow wide. 

“Holy moly.” 

She gestures to Ethan, who’s pacing on the now empty dance floor, yelling into this phone. “I think him, Naveen, and Zaid are taking the first flight home.”

Sienna nods in understanding. “Of course. Wow,” she breathes. “Of course you’d be the one to solve their medical mystery.” 

“It wasn’t me. It was Ethan.”

“But you found the study. He couldn't have known without you.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I am pretty amazing.”

Sienna giggles. She reaches down and squeezes her hand.

“Do I still have you for an extra day in the city tomorrow? Rainbow bagels and MOMA?”

“Oh, I figured you would go with Ethan."

“I promised an extra day. A promise is a promise. Plus, I'm not on the diagnostics team. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

Sienna nods and grins. “Come get me in my hotel room at ten? I need to sleep in after today." 

“You sure you’re just gonna 'sleep in'?”

Sienna blushes furiously and sticks her tongue out, nodding over her shoulder. “Doctor Pita is waiting for you.”

They quickly hug and Sienna wanders away to find Danny. 

Ethan walks in large strides and grabs her face in his hands, playing a loud, forceful kiss on her face.

“This might be it. It really might be what we’ve been missing.”

His grin and joy are infectious. “It might be it,” she agrees.

“I spoke to Zaid and Naveen. I know it's silly to fly, but we figured taking a train would be a bit too soon, right now. So we’ll get tickets–“

“We?”

He frowns. “Yes. We’re going back to Boston.”

“No, Ethan, you’re going back to Boston. I promised Sienna an extra day, remember? 

“But its not sa–"

“Ethan. Not this again. I’m an adult. It won’t kill us to be apart for a few days.” 

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just afraid to let you go. I almost lost you.” He runs his thumb down her cheek. 

“I’ll be okay, I promise.” She reaches up to place her hand over his.

“I’ll miss you."

“I’ll miss you more.”

On the entire way back to the hotel, they discuss the best ways to approach the study when the three men get back to Boston. They hurriedly pack his suitcase, and they share a quick kiss before he runs into the airport with Naveen and Zaid. 

“Be safe!” She yells at their retreating bodies. 

“Yes!” 

“Salutations, Lea.” 

“Okay.”

She laughs at the chorus of voices. And after she returns to the hotel, she collapses onto the bed. 

[ethan]

The last minute booking means that him, Zaid, and Naveen are squished into a three-seat row in the plane.

On their left, two screaming children throw Goldfish and a desperate mother tries to pick them up when they land in the seats of other passengers.

On their right are three elderly women, safely asleep. But their resounding snores make Ethan want to take a scalpel to his eardrums.

And he pinches his nose as Naveen tries to speak to him about the history of planes and their functions in the collective conscious post an era of plane crashes. 

It’s a game of sardines from hell. At some point, Zaid dozes and Naveen tucks into some novel.

He pulls out the paper bag from the seat pocket and fishes for a pen in his briefcase. Smoothing the bag out, he starts to jot down the main points Lea spoke about that night, months ago. 

Circular RNAs (circRNAs) →  Important role in causing and progressing neurodegen illness (Note: strokes still not mentioned)

He tries to think about which diseases the article actually mentions.

“This could explain the rate of progression for Alzheimer’s, Huntington’s, Spinal muscular atrophy. And…” she explained, her mouth moving a hundred miles an hour. 

What did she say after that? He remembers being distracted by the way she flushed as the sentences spilled out, the way her lips formed each word.

He places his pen against his temple. What else was she talking about? Something about muscle weakness?

CircRNA countering muscleblind genes →  Patient feels muscle weakness and numbness of the face ~ Impact of circRNA? 

“And get this. The study talks about how these diseases are multifactorial, so the presence of circRNAs prompts the question: how many different neurological systems are overlapping to simulate the effects of one disease?”

OVERLAPPING

And then comes the UV rays. The tanning salon. Is it possible that the rays are catalyzing the circRNA? 

UVs come in? Transfer from skin to neurological degeneration occurs 

Kicking the circRNA into action →  Creates overlap and multiplication of neuro systems

W/ Circular multiplication: Neuro occurrence of the stroke broken into three subtypes? 

Constant exposure to UV~ Stroke cycle of ischemic, hemorrhagic, transient

Why in this order?

“Interesting.”

Naveen hovers over his shoulder. His eyes scan Ethan’s hasty ballpoint scrawl. 

“This is a highly complex theory. Little to no research has been conducted on circular RNAs and neurological degeneratives.” He smiles and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Well done for making the connection.”  

Ethan sighs, dropping his pen. “It wasn’t me.”

Naveen raises his eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”

“It was Lea. She found this study months ago, and summarized it to me.”

Naveen’s eyes twinkle, but he says nothing. He smiles politely and turns back to his book. 

[lea]

“You said what?!" Sienna squeals, almost dropping her ice cream cone.

Actual worry spreads across Sienna’s face– not because of her– but because she was long awaiting the ice cream from this place in NYC, which serves soft serves in fish cones and a unicorn horn.

“Really?”

“I’ve been waiting for this for months!” she yells, sprinkles on the corners of her mouth.

She sighs as she shakes her watered down milkshake.

After Sienna’s insistence on a NYC ice cream crawl, which included donut ice cream sandwiches, boozy milkshakes, and rolled ice cream, she isn’t sure that her stomach can take much more.

Sienna, on the other hand, is still going strong, despite her fun-sized body.

“What do I do?”

“I mean, it seems like he was so caught up in his big medical revelation to register anything.”

“But I talked about kids! Children! Weeks of ketchup chip cravings, holding my hair back while I puke in his toilet, and… taking care of another human!”

She drops her shake down on the bar table and holds her face in her hands. “I’m screwed. I’ve ruined our entire relationship.”

“Okay.” Sienna eats the last of her cone and stands up. “You need to calm down. You’re making a huge deal of nothing. For all you know, he could want kids with you, too! Like, he actually looks at you like you’re a demigoddess dropped to Earth and reincarnated as a neurosurgeon. Also, ketchup chips? Ew.”

”Should I address it when we get home?” 

“I vote that you wait to see if he says anything first and maybe when this whole stroke patient is figured out, bring it up after?” 

She nods and stands up confidently. “Right. Plus, I’d be a good mom, right?”

“The best. Unless you continue to let your job dictate your entire existence. Now–” Sienna loops her arm around hers. “Let’s go get M&M’s and the grossest butter popcorn and watch rom-coms until 5 A.M.” 

[ethan]

As soon they land in Boston, him, Zaid, and Naveen get a cab straight to the hospital. Their suitcases lay in the corner of Ethan’s office as the three pore over the study. 

“How did Roberts even finish this on her own?” Zaid shakes his head, flipping another page.

“Dr. Roberts. And, I’m unsure. Sometimes, I truly question if she is mortal.”

“Now, friends,” Naveen smiles, sitting in an armchair. Poised as ever. “Women are too often undermined in our field. Especially those in neuroscience. Lest we forget that not too recently, medical studies claimed that the brain of a woman is smaller than that of a man. It's quite outdated.”

“Naveen, you should head home. We’ve been without rest for a while.” 

“I’m well, Ethan. I do not want to miss a medical breakthrough, after all.” 

So they continue. Cerebral ischemia, reperfusion injury models, non-coding regulation, and pseudogenes bounce around their brains until it’s 4 A.M., and the three men are half-asleep on their chairs. 

“This is going nowhere.” Zaid huffs, throwing the papers and scattering them across the floor. “How can we connect any of this to our patient? The neurodegenerative diseases they discuss are completely unrelated. This has nothing to do with UV rays.” 

Although Ethan wants nothing more to throw his stapler at Zaid, he’s right. The journal explains much about how circRNA’s cause these disorders, but nothing about UV rays and circRNA’s specifically.

“Perhaps, it does.”

Miraculously, Naveen has not moved an inch. Back straight, pleasant look on his face, legs crossed. 

He looks up. “Naveen?”

“It seems like something in this text has the answers we need. But, I believe that the three of us are ill-equipped to find these answers on our own.”

Chapter Text

[ethan]

“Something in this text has the answers we need. But I believe that the three of us are ill-equipped to find these answers on our own.” 

Ethan pauses for a few seconds. “Dr. Roberts?”

Naveen smiles. “Indeed.” 

He nods. She does know–and oddly enjoys– this neuro theory. 

He looks at the clock and sighs, but takes out his phone and sends a quick text.

Miss you. I hope you’re having fun with Sienna. Call me when you wake up.

He drops the phone on his desk, and nods at Naveen.

To his surprise, his phone rings only a few minutes later. Zaid and Naveen sit up straighter.  

“Lea?”

“Ethan?” she whispers. “Hold on.” 

He hears a shuffling of feet before the click of a door. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes. We’re all okay. Don’t worry.” 

She exhales. “Good. You didn’t text me when you landed, so I got a bit nervous.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. We were in a rush. Why are you awake?” 

“Sienna and I finished our last movie. I just tucked her in. Why are you calling?”

He sighs and rubs his forehead. “We need you.”

“Me? Why?"

“We’ve been trying to decode what UV rays have to do with our patient. And we can’t seem to uncover the underlying cause of the strokes. Or the ordering.”

“I only spent a few months in diagnostics.” 

“I know. But we need a consult.”

“A consult? I’m a resident!” 

“Well, you’re a resident who has more understanding of neuroscience theory than the three of us combined." 

A small smile spreads across Naveen’s face, and Zaid lets out an angry huff.

“Okay. Sienna, Danny, and I were planning to take the first train back, tomorrow anyways.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, before sucking it in again. “Train?”

“Yeah. No planes before noon. Danny needs to be back for his shift.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll be okay, Ethan. I have Sienna and Danny, and they said that if it comes to it, and I freak out, we’ll rent a car and drive back to Boston.”

Horrible images run through his mind– the sting of salt in blood, the clouds of gas and dust. Her collapsing and sobbing in his arms, the stitches on her chest. The young boy. Stephanie. 

“I promise, okay? I’ll call and text you while we’re on our way.” 

He sighs. “Alright."

“I love you.”

He glances up at Naveen and Zaid and Zaid just rolls his eyes as if he knows what’s coming, anyway. 

“I love you more,” he mutters, as quietly as he can.

“See you soon.”

And those three words give him more hope than he's felt in the past twenty four hours.

[ethan]

He rubs his forehead and checks his phone. No texts. They were supposed to get to the hospital by noon.

Standing up, he starts to pace, anxiety seeping into his bones with every passing minute. 

When he calls, it goes straight to voicemail.

“Are you on your way? Call me back.”

The case of his phone starts to dig into his palm as he clutches it. Naveen and Zaid had since gone home to nap and get breakfast. They insisted that Ethan does the same, but he refused.

He opens their previous text conversation. 

Be here soon? 

Lea

yeah just about 20 min out

Be safe. Love you.

Lea

:)

Say it back. 

Lea

love you too

But time runs out quickly.

Have you arrived?

Where are you?

Call me.

And that was the last of their text history.

He went downstairs to check the nurses station for Danny and checked peds for Sienna. Nothing.

He’d even gone to Liz at the desk to ask for their personal numbers– but, apparently, the information is privately held. And she still seemed unimpressed even when he insisted that he's Ethan Ramsey, as if she didn’t already know. But she ended up not having their personal numbers on file, just work numbers. 

He paces across his office, phone in hand, panic coursing through this body.

The small whir of the glass doors opening mercifully pulls him out of his overthinking. He turns and sees the familiar, bright smile.  

“Ethan? What’s wro–”

He practically sprints across his office before lifting her in a fierce and tight embrace. His arms trap her, so she just squirms and laughs.

“Good to see you, too. It's only been a da–” 

He sets her down and pulls her face into a bruising kiss. When he lets her go, she places a hand on one of his armchairs to steady herself.

“Wow. Talk about a warm welcome. Definitely not appropriate for an office with glass doors.” 

“You worried me. You’re late. And you wouldn’t respond to your phone. What's the point if you don’t use it?" He raises his hands in the air, still worked up.

“Shoot, I’m sorry. My phone died." She pulls it out of her pocket. 

“You couldn’t have informed me before it died?"

“I’m sorry, Ethan.” She wraps her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

A small smile appears on his face. "Fine. How was Sienna and the city?”

“It was good.” She exhales and relaxes into the chair. “That girl can eat.”

After she tells him about the day trip, and apologizes more for worrying him, he feels the panic slowly leave his body.

While she goes to change, he heads to the coffee stand outside of the hospital and gets coffee for them. When he comes back, she has the diagnostics binder in her lap, flipping through the notes. She looks at him gratefully as he hands her the drink. 

“You don't waste any time.” 

“No time to waste.”

Her young, playful face is now replaced by a focused one.

“First, we need to expound the research we have on UV ray neurodegeneratives. Where’s the research you three pulled up?” She snaps the binder closed. 

He scratches the back of his head. 

“You didn’t even look into the very catalyst of your speculation? No wonder you need me.”

“All right, girl genius. Let's search medical databases for recent studies on UV rays and RNA degradation. Then, let’s move into any trials that used ultraviolet radiation as their experimental group. We’ll compile this information and cross reference with that journal. And check the works consulted of the article. And all of this should be in recent years. Let’s say, no earlier than 2015.”

She nods, getting up and sitting in Ethan’s chair to access his desktop.

She looks at him. “Well? Are you coming?”

“Well, you are, in fact, using my computer.” 

“Well, go rent a work tablet from tech services.” Her fingers fly across the keyboard, bookmarking each research database. 

He shakes his head with a wry smile. “You really are a force of nature.” 

“Yeah, well I’ll become a hurricane if you idle any longer. Get moving.”

Before he leaves, he ducks his head back in. “Is it reprehensible that I find you extremely sexy right now?” 

She doesn’t even look up. “Yes.” 

His laughter echoes around the hallway as he walks out. 

[lea]

Unfortunately, despite her ambitious approach, by nightfall, they aren’t much closer to any answers. Not even close to getting through all the research.

The trials that showed the impact of ultraviolet rays on RNA spoke more about specific diseases, and less about the larger neurological impact. 

Truthfully, she's a bit irritated.

Not only due to the lack of the answers. Also because when the rest of the diagnostics team joined her and Ethan a few hours ago, she was met with an overwhelming amount of condescension and skepticism. 

“What could this last year resident know anything about diagnostics?” June rolled her eyes.

“I am wary, as well,” Zaid added. “Inexperienced diagnoses can be dangerous.”

“Friends,” Naveen countered, which made her feel a bit better. “Dr. Roberts has the skill set and knowledge to assist us with our diagnosis. Which, I remind you, has been stagnant for months until Ethan remembered her summary of a medical journal that none of us were diligent enough to find.” 

“Yeah, well,” June muttered. “Ethan’s the one who put things together.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m what you have now. And if you would like to add anything about circRNA’s challenging the linear muscleblind gene in neurodegeneratives, then, please, enlighten me.”

She was expecting to receive reprimand from Naveen, but she saw him barely hide a smile.  

And they’ve been quiet since then, following her directions.

Around 9 P.M., they’ve exhausted the trials on UV on RNA’s and circRNA’s on neurological degeneration. She starts to cross-reference their results. 

She stares at the scattered papers around her. “A 2012 article confirmed that UV rays disrupt pyrimidine doublets. A 2014 trial showed that there, in fact, could be a uniformity of sequence that comes with pyrimidine dimers. Meaning, it's highly that our patient’s RNA’s are fried from the years in the tanning salon.” 

“So, things we already know,” June mutters, picking at her fingernails.

“Quiet, June,” Ethan scolds.

“And how long has the patient been working at the tanning salon?”

Zaid checks his tablet. “Seven years.”

Naveen whistles. “How could we have not noticed this before?”

After a moment, she sits up. “Actually, speaking of not noticing things before– if the patient’s RNA degeneration is this elevated, that may explain why she’s experiencing the effects of progressive disorders. Because, why would this younger woman show symptoms of Alzheimer’s? When Alzheimer’s patients experience strokes, it’s well into the latter ends of their lives.”

Naveen nods. “Yes, indeed. The RNA’s incurred during the UV shadowing would directly impact the biological and evolutionary makeup in the molecules.”

“And if we apply that to the circRNA’s, we can see how it's doubly elevated, due to that strand of RNA having the multifactorial nature,” Ethan adds.

“Correct.” She flips through the scattered papers. “And if we look at the kinds of strokes we’re seeing– ischemic, hemorrhagic, transient– ischemics are typically associated with an embolism, so a loss of blood and oxygen to the brain. Hemorrhagic strokes are induced by aneurysms or arteriovenous malformation. The blood vessels bypass the brain tissue. Goes straight to the veins. And the transient happens when there’s a lack of blood flow altogether. But why the order?” She throws her pen down in frustration. 

“Super helpful resident,” June comments, and this time, Naveen frowns at her.

He walks over and lays a hand on her shoulder, a promising look on his face. “Don’t be discouraged. We will find the answers.” 

She looks at Ethan, and he reaches for her hand under the desk. His touch is comforting, and she releases a breath. 

“We're missing something in these strokes. It can’t just go from UV rays to RNA damage to three consecutive strokes every few days.”

Ethan nods. “The UV rays explain the presence of a single stroke, but not multiple, and not in a specific order. 

“Exactly. But this patient is surrounded by UV rays. What’s the connection?"

A frustrated huff sounds behind them. They all turn to see June now out of her chair.

“This isn’t going anywhere! Her article is completely useless!” 

Her frustration, resentment of her condescension, lack of sleep, and hunger reaches a fever pitch.

“What is yoir problem?” She gets up and crosses the office to face June.

“My problem is that I’ve spent months on this case– and suddenly, this ‘brilliant’ resident comes to crack the case! Except it's been–” June checks her watch. “Almost ten hours. I’ve combed through useless research, read useless trials, and have nothing of substance!”

“Well, I don’t see you doing anything but being a colossal jerk!”

Even Naveen looks taken aback and Ethan springs out of his chair. He grabs her upper arm. 

“Don’t get angry. It's not worth it.”

But her chest still heaves up and down. She didn’t work her ass off for six years in the hardest specialty to be put down by an overconfident, self-satisfying diagnostician. And, honestly, put down throughout her entire residency.

By Carrick, by Zaid, by June, by fellow residents. Even by Ethan, at one point.

The desperate need to prove herself, right now, is strong. 

“Lea,” Ethan offers, softer this time. “It’s okay. Breathe.” 

She freezes. And breathes. 

"Holy shit,” she whispers. 

She whirls around and grabs Ethan’s arms. “Breathe!”

Chapter Text

[lea]

“Breathing!”

“Um, yes. We heard you." Zaid blinks.

She gathers her papers and sprints out of the room.

“Lea!” She hears Ethan yell after her.

But she doesn’t stop and instead checks the patient's room number. Too impatient for the elevator, she sprints up the flights of the stairs. A few papers fly in the air as she streaks down the hospital corridors, which inspires some odd looks from nurses and doctors alike.

When she finally gets to the room, she slams the door open. Mrs. O’Malley looks startled. 

“Mrs. O’Malley! I’m sorry to scare you, I–” She places her paper-filled hands on her knees, catching her breath.

She hears footsteps behind her. Ethan, Zaid, June, and Naveen had caught up. 

“What the hell?” June snaps.

She ignores her and walks bedside.

“Mrs. O’Malley, my name is Dr. Lea Roberts. I’ve been assisting Dr. Ramsey, Dr. Mirani, Dr. Hirata, and Chief Banerji with your case. I had one quick question."

She catches her breath and shuffles through her papers.

“In your file, I see that your psychiatrist prescribes you about twenty milligrams of Prozac.”

Mrs. O’Malley nods hesitantly. “Yes. For my depression and anxiety.” 

“I’m so sorry to hear that you’re struggling with those illnesses. Too often, people write off depression and anxiety and the impact they can have on a person.” 

That seems to placate her. “You’re right. Sometimes my coworkers don’t believe me when I describe that I just… can’t get out of bed for my shift. Or have panic attacks when a customer is there.”

“That’s unfair of them. I'm so sorry. Has it become more severe in the past few months?”

She nods. “My… my best friend passed away right before I had the strokes for the first time. It's been hard for me ever since. Hard to function, in general. My mom moved in with me to make sure I still eat and sleep when I can.”

“Mrs. O’Malley, have you been experiencing insomnia?”

Behind her, Zaid, Ethan, June, and Naveen still seem perplexed.

“Yes. How did you know? I don’t think that’s on my chart.”

“Many people with anxiety and depression struggle with insomnia. But, sometimes, being around LED & UV ray lights, like you are in your job, can create stress in the eyes, making it difficult to sleep. Insomnia and constant exposure can cause this thing called oxidative stress.”

Oxygen. Breathe.

And Naveen draws a startled breath behind her. 

“What’s that?” Mrs. O’Malley looks between her and Naveen with a confused look on her face.

Ethan, June and Zaid do the same, trying to decipher the situation.

She pulls up a stool next to the bed. “Oxidative stress is when our cells and our brains don’t get enough oxygen. This is particularly harmful when we talk about strokes. As you know, your strokes have a sequence. Ischemic, hemorrhagic, transient. Ischemic strokes happen when oxygen doesn’t get to the brain. Hemorrhagic strokes happen when the blood doesn’t get to the brain. And transient strokes happen when there isn’t blood flow at all.”

She tries to communicate the complex information as best as she can, but she can tell that Mrs. O’Malley is still confused.

“So, how do the LED lights and insomnia make me have the strokes?”

“When we sleep, we have this thing called a circadian rhythm. This is our 24-hour clock. It's what tells us if we’re tired or not. So, typically, our body tells us to be awake in the daytime and tired during the nighttime. That’s hard for you, though, because you can’t fall asleep during that typical 24-hour clock.

“When this 24-hour clock is disrupted, it’s hard for our body to give our brain that typical cycle of oxygen. Hence, the lack of oxygen with oxidative stress. Your lack of sleep is the cause of your strokes.”

She hears gasps from the doctors behind her. Surprise is written on Mrs. O’Malley’s face.

“Your brain isn’t getting enough oxygen. As a result, some cells in your brain can’t function correctly. Specifically, these things we call RNA can malfunction. RNA is basically a messenger in our cells. And when the messengers don’t work, we can’t get the important things our brain needs. More specifically, we also have these things called circRNAs.

"These are even more important, because they can regulate the other RNAs on their own. If a car is our messenger, the RNA, those huge trucks that carry a bunch of cars are our circRNAs.”

Mrs. O’Malley nods, seeming to understand.

“When that circRNA stops working, so does each regular RNA it controls. This means that multiple things can happen to the body at once. In your case, every time your lack of sleep becomes too much for your body, you experience an odd sequence of brain malfunctions.

“It starts with the ischemic– first, the oxygen doesn’t reach the brain. That stroke led to your hemorrhagic stroke. Second, the blood doesn’t reach your brain, because there was no oxygen at all. And finally, the blood flow stops altogether, as the lack of oxygen and blood combines to create your transient stroke.”

Mrs. O’Malley sits back, shock and understanding mixed on her face.

“I know that’s a lot to take in. I’ll be honest, it was a lot for us to process as well. Your case is unlike any we’ve ever seen.”

“How… how have I survived? If I’ve been sleep-deprived for so long?” 

“If I’m honest, I’m not sure. It’s rare. You should be feeling the impact of the neurological stress by now. Dr. Ramsey told me that you were experiencing dizziness and feeling muscle numbness at one point.” She looks back at Ethan, who nods. “Is that all you’ve been feeling?”

Mrs. O’Malley nods. “I’ve always attributed the numbness and dizziness to my depression. I’ve experienced those things before the strokes, as well.”

Lea pulls out her neuro torch from her coat pocket. “May I?”

The woman nods.

“Can you look at Dr. Ramsey’s tie for me?” She runs the flashlight over her eyes.

“As I thought, your cornea is damaged by the UV rays and LED lights’ oxidation. But not beyond repair. I’ve seen much worse.”

Mrs. O’Malley breathes a sigh of relief. “Is there treatment for this?”

“Well,” she starts, tucking the torch back into her coat pocket. “I’m going to page Dr. Tobias Carrick. He is my anttending and an excellent neurosurgeon. In my opinion, I think he’ll suggest a cerebral revascularization. That’s where we’ll go back and re-adjust an artery that will provide oxygen and blood flow to your brain.”

“Will it be… scary?” Mrs. O’Malley looks a bit frightened. 

And she feels a bit of sadness for her. All of this because her best friend died, and things spiraled out of her control.

“I won’t lie. It’s invasive. But, Dr. Carrick is a terrific neurosurgeon. And the post-surgery recovery will only be around 1-2 days.”

Mrs. O’Malley perks up, more relief dwelling on her face. 

She starts to feel the adrenaline build in her body, the thrill of solving the case hitting her, all at once.

“Do you have any other questions for me?” After she shakes her head, Lea pats her hand. “Okay. Tell the nurses to give me a call if you need something or have questions. I’m here if you need anything, Mrs. O’Malley.”

As she stands to leave, a hand touches her elbow.

"Dr. Roberts.”

When she turns, she almost stumbles in that very moment, seeing the tears build in Mrs. O'Malley's eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I– I didn’t know if they’d ever figure out what was wrong with me.” 

Her heart beats faster, satisfaction and pride rushing through her. But she manages a calm smile.

“Edenbrook’s diagnostics team is second to none. Their minds hold unparalleled brilliance. You are in the best of hands.” 

The woman nods and smiles.

She spins and breezes past June, Zaid, Ethan, and Naveen, her chin high.

After the four exit and close the door, Naveen strides forward and clasps her hands in his own.

“Dr. Roberts. You have just solved one of the most perplexing medical mysteries I have ever encountered. You might have just saved Edenbrook’s diagnostics team.” 

At this point, her smile is so wide, it’s dizzying. She nearly jumps up and down. “Thank you, Chief Banerji. I couldn’t have done it without the rest of the team.”

“You definitely could have." Ethan joins Naveen's side.

She can tell by the way that he’s shuffling his feet that either wants to hold her so tightly until she can’t breathe or throw her over his shoulder and take her home. She’d be fine with either one. 

“Well done.” Zaid nods sternly, but an impressed look peeks through his hard expression. 

“Yeah, great job,” June mutters, pretending that she’s been paged, and walks away. 

“Take some time off. Relax. Decompress." Naveen’s eyes flicker in mirth. “Both of you.”

When the other three doctors leave, and it's just her and Ethan left, it's clear that the latter is how the morning will go. 

Chapter Text

[ethan]

He blinks as he watches her speak with Mrs. O’Malley, describing the thing that had stumped them for the last few months in a few minutes. 

He hears Naveen chuckle next to him, and he couldn’t figure out why. But, as soon as she explains the insomnia, it all hits him in an overwhelming wave of understanding. 

Of course. They’d just assumed it was solely neurodegenerative. They didn’t account for oxidation or the ramifications of her mental illness.

He’s in such awe that he doesn’t even care when she mentions Carrick. And his chest swells with affection when she redirects Mrs. O’Malley’s thanks' to the entire team. They definitely didn’t deserve it. So, when she simply struts past them, “proud” becomes too pathetic of a word. 

When they’re finally alone, he’s elated, probably a stupid grin on his face, judging by the odd looks he gets as he strides through the hospital, her trailing behind him. 

“Ethan!” She laughs as he yanks her hand harder. “Slow down!” 

He stops, causing her to bump into his chest. Forcefully pulling her in, his mouth drops to her ear. “If I slow down, then I can’t promise you’ll be fully clothed by the time we exit this damn hospital.” 

When he pulls back, her eyes are wide.

“Carry on, then.”

The ride home is filled with laughter and sneaky hands. As soon as they get into the elevator, he pushes her up against the mirrored wall.

“How do you manage to do that?” he whispers, bringing his mouth to her jaw. 

“Do what?” she squeaks, laughing between each kiss across her neck.

“Manage to be practically perfect in every way.” 

“That’s definitely a line from Mary Poppins.”

“I don’t care.”

And as the door slides open, he sweeps her into his arms. She shrieks, but loops her arms around his neck and nuzzles into his chest. His right hand fumbles with the lock as her lips rest on his collarbone. 

“Stop distracting me.”

“Make me."

He pushes the door open and kicks it shut behind them. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you said, ‘make me’?” 

“Of course I do. I don’t think I’ll ever forget.” She runs a finger over his neck. He tosses her gently on the couch. 

“Ethan!” She bounces slightly on the cushions, and sits up on her elbows. “Come here.” 

He crawls on top of her, and closes the distance..

And immediately, they wind together, sharing breaths. Clothes fly off, lips and tongues trace each neck, chest, rib, each spread of skin. And his teeth finally bite inside of her thigh. 

“Ethan," she whimpers.

His smile fans warmth on her skin, and as he lowers his mouth to her clit, pleasure swirls out in all directions. His fingers thrust inside of her at a pace too fast for her to keep up with. Her own hand seeks his other, centering her, as the velvet of the cushions digs into her neck.

“I’m going to come, please–”

He nods at her whispers and his tongue starts to lick long lines up and down her seam. She finally falls apart on him, frantically grinding against his face. Whimpers and shudders fill the space around them. After her orgasm subsides, she sits up on her elbows, him still hovering above her legs. 

“That was amazing.”

And with a brush of lips against her thigh, her hips are pulled towards him, and she’s quickly swept into his arms. 

“I’m just getting started.”

After walking to the bedroom, he lays her down on the bed and hovers over her, his eyes soft, but searing.

“You’re beautiful.”

“And a genius,” she adds. 

"Beautiful, unfairly brilliant, tenacious. And so, so sexy."

When his head drops once again between her thighs, her back arches as she feels the oversensitivity. She tries to wriggle and push him off, But his palms force her hips down, refusing to let her go. His tongue continues to mercilessly slash at her clit.

Finally, she comes hard and fast. And is mortified to feel wetness drip down her legs.

He buries his neck in her shoulder and smiles against her skin. “I got you to do it again.”

She huffs a breathless laugh. “Why do you still have pants on?”

“Well, I was kind of busy making you sq–” 

“Ethan!” she shrieks, flinging a pillow at him. She straddles him, tears his pants off, and hovers over him.

But a moment later, she's flat on her back. She pouts.

“You got to be on top for the last two times." 

She raises an eyebrow. “It’s not my fault you’re a bottom."

"I am not.” 

“Are too.”

“No.” 

Before she can retort, he thrusts inside of her, and it’s unexpectedly tender. Her eyes flutter close, the thrilling weight of him making her dizzy. But she's pulled back, as his hand grabs her chin.

"No. Look at me."

She whimpers, and forces her eyes open.

And the way they look at each other is different. Special to only them. 

A scream bursts from her chest as he pounds into her, the bed beginning to shake. She tries to grasp at some inch of him that's not already hers. 

“Damn, Lea. Dear god.”

A curse, her name spills from his mouth. He groans loudly and she feels him pulse inside of her over and over again.

The sheets stay twisted around them for a few minutes until they hesitantly pull apart. Not far, as her head still traces the lift of his chest and her leg still hangs over his hip. For those few moments, nothing is more full, more whole. 

“How did you know?” Ethan mumbles into her hair. 

She leans back to look up at him. "This is our pillow talk?”

“You’re tracing medical symbols on my chest right now. How did you figure it out?”

“When you told me to breathe… it made sense. We were focusing too much on the other factors– RNA and DNA, the UV rays, the reasons for and ordering of the strokes. We didn’t go back to the basics. Oxygen. Breathing.

"And since we thought the strokes were born of typical age progression, we didn’t check through the very things that make her young. How things are affecting her in her current life. Triggers like a friend’s death, the presence of anxiety and depression. We had to get out of our heads.”

“More like get our heads out of our asses. A team full of diagnosticians too caught up in their own egos to actually help a patient.”

She presses a palm to his cheek. “That might’ve been Zaid or June, but not you. Remember all those nights you spent working instead of sleeping?”

“Those nights led to a lot of arguments, I recall.” 

She sits up fully. “You made the first connection. We worked as a team.” 

His thumb returns to her cheek. “I love you.”

Her eyes light up, and she smiles cheekily. “I love you more.” 

She talks through the night, telling him about the amazing food in the city, how Sienna told her that Jackie gave her a vibrator as a wedding present, explaining yet another medical theory. He listens most of the time, his attention only occasionally relenting itself to the column of her spine, to the knots in her hair, to the corners of her mouth.

And as the night pushes on, their sentences grow shorter, their words flimsier. Finally, the last one dissolves on her mouth, as their backs warm from the rising sun.

Chapter Text

[spring] 

The public wake is the first week of February. 

Earlier in January, a vigil was set up in front of the fence lining Pleasure Beach– pictures of mothers and sons, bouquets of sunflowers and peonies, candles melted down to the wick.

Now, gravestones scatter across the ground, small commemorations inscribed on each slab of rock. 

The families of each victim of the crash huddle on the sandy grass in front of the fence, quiet sniffles and weeps echoing into the salty air around them. A minister recites kind words, and a member of each family comes forward to speak about their loved ones.

She gets especially choked up when Stephanie’s family allows the nurses to speak, as well. Tears stream down the faces of Jane, Delia, and Sienna, and she can’t help but see the flashbacks of Stephanie’s bloody body on the ground, only a few feet from where they were standing.

Ethan seems to notice and tightens his arm that's wrapped around her. She leans against his shoulder and tries to hide her tears. 

She feels selfish for celebrating the last few months, for being happy. Celebrating the end of her residency, celebrating the recovery of Mrs. O’Malley, celebrating being prematurely promoted to an neuro attending, celebrating being the youngest attending in Edenbrook history. These families didn’t know happiness for the last few months. And that makes her cry harder. 

After they finish speaking, the nurses approach her with watery eyes. They seem to know exactly what she’s thinking, and they just shake their heads before wrapping her into a group embrace. For the next months, she and the nurses see the hospital’s staff therapist. She talks through her flashbacks, her guilt. 

Summer rolls around, and while she’ll probably have to grapple with her dark thoughts for a long time, she knows how to manage them. The nurses become her best friends, and Ethan holds her every night when she breaks down. In her twenty-eight years of life, she's never had a stronger support system.

[fall]

In November, the day after Thanksgiving, she sits on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and stares at the pale pink sticks on the floor.

Two dark lines. Two dark lines. Two dark lines. 

An amalgamation of emotions makes her dizzy. With shaky hands, she calls the girls and cries for hours, unsure if the tears are of happiness or fear. They reassure her, tell her that she'd be a good mom, that Ethan will love her no matter what she decides.

They offer to come over with ice cream. But she declines, because she knows that he's on his way back from the grocery store. 

And, twenty minutes later, she sits on a stool in the kitchen, eyes still fixed on the three tests in front of her. The door swings open, and he emerges with two large paper bags in his hands.

“They didn’t have almond milk or those organic carrots or whatever, so I just got–” 

He freezes when he sees her staring at the sticks, and walks behind her. 

She hears a sharp inhale and the sound makes her sag in her stool. Then, a breathless laugh catches in his throat. Her heart stops, and a hopeful warmth, a dazed kind of excitement starts to spread through her. 

He spins her stool to face him. “You’re really?” 

She nods and can’t help but laugh at the awed smile on his face. He breathes out another laugh. And, all at once, she’s lifted off the floor. 

He spins her in a circle around the kitchen. “We’re having a kid!” 

She laughs as he plants a hard kiss on her lips, and nods. “We’re having a kid.”

[next year]

And around thirty-seven weeks later, in early August, Amelia lies in his arms, her tiny fist clutching his finger. 

She leans her head on his shoulder, and he looks down at the tiny thing in front of him.

“Hi. I promise that I'll learn how to be a father. Eventually." 

“My heart is still bursting at the seams, you know.” She sniffs, tracing the scar that lines her chest. “But it's for two now.”

He nuzzles his nose against Amelia's little one. “You’re going to be brilliant, just like your mother. But you’ll be a diagnostician. Not a neurosurgeon.” 

“Ethan!” 

--

And a few days later, when they ask Sienna and Danny to be her godparents, she thinks Sienna might combust from sheer joy. Danny looks a bit alarmed but Sienna beams as she holds Amelia close to her chest. “I’m going to read you The Secret of Ninradell every time you get to stay at Aunty Sienna’s house.”

That night, when they call Stephanie’s parents to tell them Amelia's middle name, they cry and laugh over the phone for hours. 

--

And, a few weeks later, she's paged to a digital imaging room.

She walks across the hospital in confusion, as she doesn't remember ordering a CT for any of her patients. When she enters the scan room, it's completely empty. 

“Hello? Carrick?”

In front of her, the bluelight imaging screens that usually project the brain scans start to flicker and change color.

“What in the world–”

She pulls out her phone to contact tech services, but it slips from her fingers as she looks up at the screen. The polychromatic brain scans warp into crooked, blocky letters: 'I love you more.'

She turns around and sees him with a velvet box, a dazzling ring nestled within. “Lea–”

“Yes!” She pulls him up into a crushing hug. “Yesyesyes!” 

Ethan laughs and lifts her on her toes. "You couldn’t let me finish, could you?”

“What else is there to say?” 

[next summer]

“To Lea and Ethan!” Everyone echoes, clinking their champagne glasses.

In typical style, their wedding reception not only celebrates them but the publication of her newest medical study.

Ever since they solved Mrs. O’Malley’s stroke case, she's been researching and writing a study on RNA half-lives at the intersections of depression and anxiety medications. In addition to Amelia, the two-hundred page research paper had been her baby for the past two years.

And, instead of speeches, she explains the goals of her study to their guests. Ethan looks between the woman next to him and the little girl sitting in his lap, who looks just as enraptured by her as he is.

At one point during her explanation, Amelia fusses and reaches her hands up, to which the guests laugh heartily. She curls her head into Lea's neck when she picks her up, earning squeals from Sienna and 'awww's from the crowd. Even Zaid smiles a bit.

It is pretty damn adorable.

As a newborn, she had clung to Ethan for dear life. When she cried, she always wanted him. When she wanted to be held, she wanted him. And, while the rings under his eyes darkened after months of sleep deprivation, and while he had to get his shirts dry cleaned every week because drool was always on them, the only time he’d ever felt more in love was when he first met that kid's mother. 

Lea was perfectly fine with this. In fact, she was excited for the photo opportunities, and completely elated to see Amelia was all him and not really her. Turquoise eyes, tawny skin, and fluffy tufts of brown hair.

But she will be a diagnostician, and that’s that.

During the rest of Lea's speech, he watches Amelia look up at her in awe. Awe at her being, how her mouth moves, how her eyes shine. And, after questions–a lot of them, because Carrick decides to be an obnoxious asshole– she'd fallen asleep in her arms.

After the toasts, Sienna rises to clear the dance floor and start the music.

They had been dancing with Amelia in between them for most of the night, but her friends eventually steal her away. 

“Come here, baby Ames! Aunty Jackie wants to teach you about cardiology!” 

“Oh my god,” Lea rubs her forehead. “She’s going to be a neurologist!” 

“Diagnostician!”

At this point, everyone has insisted that she will definitely become a doctor, and will definitely specialize in what they themselves specialize in.

To Ethan’s horror, her favorite is no other than Carrick, who makes her giggle every time he pokes her nose. 

Sienna planned a very appropriate wedding. Which was simple for him (because he didn't care in the slightest) and elegant for her. The ceremony is small, at a gazebo of a country club, lots of pinks and golds. As night fell, sparklers are lit, and they all dance on the grass.

Lightning bugs blink as they sway back and forth, patches of lilac and roses around them.

"The last time we were dancing to this song, you had a medical breakthrough, and I blurted out that I wanted kids with you.” 

He laughs and squeezes her waist. “I forgot that you said that. I was so caught up by the UV ray discovery.”

They look over at Jackie and Aurora twirling a stumbling Amelia, who is completely transfixed by the way her tutu flares up beneath the breeze.

“Good thing I always get what I want." She sighs. “Do me a favor, though, and don’t have another groundbreaking realization right now. I’m exhausted." 

"I think we’ve had enough of those for a lifetime,” he says. 

“Oh, no. I have a lot left in me. Just give me a year or so, to find something interesting.”

He shakes his head with a small smile. “Fine. Can it just not be about DNA or RNA? I don't think I can bear hearing either of those words ever again."

“But look what DNA and RNA got us."

Her eyes flicker to the dance floor, at Sienna now spinning Amelia in a circle.

“Thank goodness she has your DNA,” she tells him. 

“She has yours, too, you know. Aren’t you a doctor?” 

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

"You already said that, three hours ago."

He pinches her side and she yelps, slapping his chest.

"I'm thankful she has you. That I have you." 

He raises his eyebrows. "Been watching more rom-coms?"

A small smile tugs on her lips. "Remember what I said that night when you dragged me out of the hospital? After I was overworking so much?"

"That I’m bad at Med Scrabble?"

"Well, I might have said that, too. But another thing."

He blinks, half-exasperated, half-amused. "What?"

"That you're a part of me." 

His lips finally twitch up, in realization. 

“No matter the DNA, huh?”

“No matter the DNA.”